As Seen On TV
by Yvetta
Summary: Sam's nightmare releases the boys into a horror movie . . . literally.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: I don't own any of these characters. Seriously, not a single one. And I just wanted to get this off my chest because I had a dream that this happened. And then Windyfontaine made a suggestion that was somewhat similar, so I elected to write it. It's odd, but so am I, so it works out. By the way, Blairstown is a real place, but I'm making up everything that happens there. Sorry.

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Sam Winchester sat straight up in bed, the familiar pains of a receding vision gnawing at his aching head. Breathing heavily but not wanting to wake his brother, he rolled off the squeaky bed and headed for the bathroom. This last vision was completely bizarre. If he and Dean hadn't been so exhausted from their most recent hunt, he would have immediately gotten the elder Winchester up to use as a sounding board. Sam almost didn't believe the flashing scenes he'd seen in his own mind.

As the door to the bathroom swung shut, Dean opened one eye. He'd heard his brother get up and knew it was either a nightmare or a vision. Either way, Sam would want to need to talk about it. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled onto his back, flicking the switch on the lamp so the room was dimly lit. Then he rested his head on his hands and prepared to wait his little brother out.

After a few minutes of throwing cold water in his face, Sam turned off the light and opened the door, immediately noticing the lamp. Sheepishly, he hung his head as he returned to his bed and crawled under the covers.

"Well?" Dean prompted.

"Sorry," the younger hunter muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Sammy. Nightmare or Vision?"

"It's Sam," came the automated response. "Uh . . . I'm pretty sure it was a vision."

Dean sat up, leaning against the headboard. "Pretty sure? You've been having these for a while now, Sam. I know you know the difference between a nightmare and a vision."

"Yeah, well – this was odd."

"I find that almost everything about you is odd, geek boy," Dean grumbled. "What about this is so different? I mean, normally you're throwing up from watching people die or cradling your head in your hands from the pain of it, not splashing water in your face in the middle of the night. What happened? Did you see people die?"

Sam took a deep breath. "I _did_ see people die, Dean. It's just . . ." He trailed off.

"What?"

"Have you ever seen 'Friday the 13th'?"

Dean's eyes roamed around the room wildly as his brain tried frantically to connect Sam's statements together. "Yeah, why?"

"That's what I was dreaming about."

"You dreamed that you saw a scary movie?"

"No, I dreamed that we were hunting the guy with the chainsaw."

It was all the elder Winchester could do to refrain from laughing. Finally, he asked, "Wait – dreamed or had a vision?"

"That's the thing, Dean. I don't think it was a dream, but I can't have a vision of a movie."

"Why not?"

"Because my visions are premonitions – they're of things that are going to happen! They're not flashbacks from things that Hollywood producers thought up."

"Well, Sam, it may sound strange, but those visions of yours have never been wrong yet. We should at least check it out."

"You want to check out a vision about a movie?"

Dean smiled. "Did you get Hollywood coordinates with this vision?"

"Don't you know where it took place?"

"In a fictional place, Sam. Do you know where your vision took place?"

Sam sat up again, still under his blanket. "New Jersey."

"Did you really get coordinates?" Dean asked, surprised.

"No. The guy with the chainsaw told me where to find him."

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It only took about twelve hours for the Winchesters to arrive at their destination in Blairstown, New Jersey, where they found many upset locals. Apparently, teenagers had been found in the nearby forest, hacked to death with some sort of saw or axe. And no one could explain it. Naturally, since the sun was setting, the air was slightly chilly, and everything was eerily lit by the rising full moon, the brothers somehow decided it would be a good idea to head straight to the forest to hunt this Jason creature down.

"You don't suppose it's just another thing that became real since so many people believed the movie, do you?" Sam asked as they drove.

"Please, Sammy – that was one of the worst scary movies ever. Terrible acting."

"Dean, some people are actually scared by scary movies, since they don't hunt those types of things all the time."

Dean sniffed. "True. But I can't imagine this guy becoming real just because some terrified movie-goers thought it might be true."

They pulled to the side of the road at the forest and got out of the car, arming themselves with handguns. Sam tucked a knife in his belt when Dean turned around. He hated to seem petulant and worried, but the images from his vision still flashed through his mind, making logic and reasoning almost impossible. With a quick glance at each other, they headed straight in to the darkness of the trees.

The two had been walking in the forest for about an hour, eyes shifting competently even though their gaits were casual. Sam had his gun out at the ready still, although Dean had long gotten sick of holding the gun out, still not totally convinced that this Hollywood chainsaw guy was what was killing people. And his carelessness showed through loud and clear when he tripped. He put a hand out to catch himself before his brain belatedly caught up to him and registered what he had tripped on. It was the top of an old well. His arm slammed painfully into the side of it as he tumbled to the bottom with a splash. Briefly, he realised his ankle hurt, too, but that thought went away when he found himself in three inches of icy water.

"Dean!" Sam was calling from up above.

"Yeah," Dean snapped back, irritated with his own delinquency in tripping.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine; just hurt my pride."

"Really?" Sam asked skeptically. "Then why did you yell 'ow' when you hit the wall?"

"Get me out of here, Sam," Dean hissed. "And I mean sooner rather than later. Two minutes ago would be nice."

Sam grinned. "I'll be right back, then." And he ran off.

Dean had only a few short minutes to sit by himself before his brother returned with something in his arms. And those few minutes were interesting for the trapped hunter. He came to a fascinating realisation that he suddenly wanted to share. "You know, Sam, in a sick, Winchester-twisted sort of way, this makes me feel better."

Sam stopped what he was doing to look at his brother. "Being stuck in a wet well makes you feel better?"

"I'm always having this complex that you're about to get hurt and it's my fault, but this time I fell down into the well and I didn't even do it to save you."

Sam nodded uncertainly, trying to appease his brother even though he was having doubts about said brother's sanity at the moment. "Must be hypothermia," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing, Dean. You were saying?"

"Yeah, well, I realised that even though I always want to save you, you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. And I'm not invincible."

"That discovery only took two decades too long to make."

"Come on, Sammy, I'm trying to make a statement here."

"You're wet, you're injured, and you're trying to instigate a chick-flick moment, Dean," Sam countered calmly. "So I'm going to discount pretty much everything you say."

"What does my being wet have to do with anything?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I'm tossing you a rope. Tie it around yourself so I can pull you out."

Dean flinched as the thick twine hit him, but quickly did as his brother suggested. "You think you can drag me out of here by yourself, Sammy?"

"Sam," the younger hunter corrected. "And I know I can."

Dean chuckled in spite of the situation, shrugging off more shivering . . . that is, until he felt himself get jerked into the air. He twitched, instinctively grasping for something to hold onto in order to steady himself, and stopped when he heard his brother's strained voice from above.

"Stop . . . moving . . . Dean," Sam ground out as he pulled on the rope, moving Dean upward surprisingly quickly. "Makes . . . it . . . harder."

"Sorry," he answered, trying to still his movements as much as possible.

Within a few short minutes, Dean felt his brother's hands on his jacket, bodily dragging him up and over the edge of the well. They both dropped to the ground, Sam panting his exhaustion and Dean shaking from the cold, moisture, and pain.

"Thanks," Dean finally said, holding his injured wrist tight to his body and grumbled as he remembered that his gun had dropped from his hand in the water when he landed.

Sam was sitting up at this point, coiling the rope around his hand and elbow to put it away. "Thanks for having a rope in your trunk," he answered. "I guess this means you pretty much saved yourself."

"You know me, Sammy. Always prepared."

Sam snorted and climbed to his feet, offering Dean a hand up. When the two were on their feet again, the elder Winchester smiled up at his little brother. "As fun as that was, let's not make a habit of you saving me, okay?"

"Don't make a habit of needing to be saved, and then I won't have to."

"I won't," Dean grumbled, wincing as he put weight on his right ankle and pain shot up his whole leg. He tried to "walk it off," as their father had always taught them to, but Sam caught the movement before he could recover.

"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing," the elder hunter said, shrugging in typical Dean fashion.

Sam stopped what he was doing once again so he could give his full attention to the "I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am" expression that he carefully painted across his face. He even put his hands on his hips to complete the look.

Dean looked away for a second, and then turned back. "What?"

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Sighing frustration, Dean threw up his arms. "Fine," he growled. "I think I twisted my ankle when I fell. Happy?"

An almost evil grin creased Sam's face. "Admitting you have a problem is half of the battle, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean snapped as he tried to hobble away. Sam's smile faded, and he quickly put his shoulder under his brother's good arm for support, snaking his free arm around Dean's waste. To his surprise, the elder Winchester offered no resistance. He must have been in a lot of pain.

"You all right?" Sam asked after they had walked for a few minutes in silence.

"Wonderful."

"Well, we'll be at the car in just a minute and then you can be wonderful at the motel."

"What about the hunt, Sam?"

"We'll finish it in the morning."

Dean stopped moving, wrenching himself away from his younger brother. "In the morning? As in after more people die?"

Sam took a deep breath. "What do you want to do? You want to finish it tonight? You want to go out there and limp around trying not to get yourself killed? You want to get chased down and hacked up by a chainsaw? Is that what you want, Dean?"

The older hunter was taken aback by this unexpected outburst. "You saying I can't fight?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean, I'm saying you're not at a hundred percent. I'm saying this guy has been killing people for decades, and he knows what he's doing. I'm saying you've been injured and it hampers your ability to defend yourself."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and finally Dean sniffed in the chilly night air. "So what then?"

"Look," the younger Winchester offered, holding out his hands to his sides, "we can go back to the motel and try again tomorrow, or I can finish this myself. Those are the options right now."

"I don't like those options."

"I know, but there aren't any others."

"I can fight this thing, Sam."

Sam almost smiled mirthlessly. "Dean, you feel overly protective of me, especially when I'm not functioning at my best. You feel like you need to defend me and make sure nothing even looks at me wrong, Did you really believe it doesn't go both ways?"

Dean hadn't ever thought about it like that before. And in spite of how much he wanted to argue, he knew it was true. Just as he never would have allowed his shivering, wet, little brother to continue a hunt – especially with a twisted ankle – he couldn't make Sam do both the hunting and the protecting. It was dangerous enough to be hunting this creature, but adding the fact that his brother's attention would be divided between their prey and himself made it nigh onto suicide. And that was completely unspeakable.

Sam could feel his older brother's reluctant acceptance of their predicament long before Dean ever responded. So when the resounding "Fine," echoed in his ears, he had already moved back into his position as a human crutch until they could get back to the car. And before they had taken two steps, they heard a familiar rumbling begin, causing them both to halt once more.

"Tell me that's not a chainsaw," Sam whispered.

"Tell me we're really close to the car," Dean shot back softly.

"We're really close to the car," the young hunter mumbled unconvincingly.

"Then that's not a chainsaw," came the snide reply. "What?" he asked when Sam glared. "You lie to me and I'm going to lie to you."

Sam suddenly shoved them both behind a nearby tree and bit his bottom lip in thought, unconsciously steadying his brother with one hand. "Here's what we're going to do," he announced as he pulled the gun from his pants with his free hand. "You're going to make a break for the car . . . as quickly as you can." He checked the clip to make sure it was full, even though he had checked it three times before they'd left.

"And you?" Dean asked with some degree of curiosity and some dread.

"I'm going to finish this."

"We don't know exactly how to kill him yet, Sam. People have burned him, axed him, shot him, stabbed him and thrown him from a four-story building but nothing has kept him down."

"I appreciate the recap, Dean, but I already did the research, remember? Anyway, just get to the car and I'll be there in thirty minutes." He put the gun back and made sure his silver knife was where he left it.

"Thirty minutes? Just like that?"

Sam finally focused his attention back on his brother. "What do you want? Would you rather I promise to be back in ten? I'm good, Dean, but seriously –"

"I just want you to be realistic, Sam," Dean growled.

"Fine. I'll be there in three hours. Now run along."

Dean was going to argue with that. At the very least, he was going to say something witty and sarcastic and rude to his brother. But Sam had already turned around and headed away before he could come up with something suitable. Standing and staring at his little brother's retreating back, the elder hunter could only shake his fist angrily and hobble toward the car in order to relieve at least a small portion of Sam's worry. By the time he made it to his precious impala, though, his own worry for his brother was overriding any of the logic that had separated them in the first place. He opened the trunk of the car, pulling out his trusty shotgun, kerosene, and two long knives. Yes, all of that had been tried before; however, his brain could get past the "my little brother is out with a demonic madman and no way to kill it" stage. He could still hear the sound of the chainsaw, but hadn't heard any noises that might suggest Sam was anywhere near the guy. That was comforting, in a strange way.

Once he had everything strategically placed on his person, Dean locked the car and headed back into the forest. As the sounds of the saw grew louder, the elder hunter's ears picked up something far more terrifying. He heard a woman screaming, and then Sam's voice shout, "NO!" Then there was the slight catch in the chainsaw's motor as it obviously hit something solid.

Then there was silence.

"SAM!" Dean shouted as he tried – unsuccessfully – to run to where he thought he'd last heard sounds. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard the chainsaw start up again . . . right behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean heard a woman screaming, and then Sam's voice shout, "NO!" Then there was the slight catch in the chainsaw's motor as it obviously hit something solid._

_Then there was silence._

_"SAM!" Dean shouted as he tried – unsuccessfully – to run to where he thought he'd last heard sounds. He hadn't gotten very far when he heard the chainsaw start up again . . . right behind him._

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Dean stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the saw rumble, eyes going wide. He still had no idea what had happened to Sam or where the woman had come from. He knew he hadn't gone far enough to pass his brother and this creature. And he didn't have a clue how to kill it. With those thoughts in mind, he slowly turned around.

The sight didn't really surprise him. He'd seen Friday the 13th many times before and knew what Jason looked like. He'd made fun of the movie for countless hours. So it was ironic, then, when Dean decided he couldn't run because the Jason from the movie could walk menacingly slowly and still somehow always be caught up with the screaming, running, frantic victim. It would be a waste of time. Not having many other options, the hunter jerked out his lighter, glanced down at it while biting his lip, and stuck it back in his pocket. That never worked. That one had been tried too many times. He fumbled for the gun, his heart beating more rapidly as the chainsaw neared him. But still, he didn't move from his position.

When he could feel the churning air from the whirling blade, Dean knew he was in serious trouble. The gun was out but his brain kept shouting that it was useless against Jason. And in the end, it didn't matter, anyway; he heard a familiar voice shout, "Drop!" and found that his body obeyed before his brain had finished processing the command. Sam flew through the air where Dean's head had been only moments before, a large, flat rock held out in front of him as a shield. The rock deflected the chainsaw's killing blade and then the hunter plowed into Jason with tremendous force. The saw, which was surprisingly corporeal, dropped harmlessly to the ground. Dean was sitting up at this point, his throbbing wrist cradled at his chest protectively. He was about to get up to help Sam when said brother rolled off Jason Voorhees and ran for Dean.

"Are you okay?" he asked, panting.

"Kill that guy, Sam!" Dean growled.

"What do you think I've been trying to do for the last twenty minutes?" Sam snapped back. "Anyway, we have to run. There's been an unfortunate development."

He held his hand out to help his older brother up, and hardly noticed when his one hand hauled all of Dean's weight up. He glanced back at Jason, who had retrieved his chainsaw and was coming at the brothers again.

"Hurry," he murmured, inserting himself once again as a human crutch for Dean and pushing the two of them forward. "We don't have much time."

"You can say that again," the elder Winchester returned. "What's this new development?"

"Uh, I'll tell you later."

"Sam," Dean said, his voice a warning.

Sam glanced back at Jason, who was, naturally, gaining on them. "You're about to find out," he answered.

The brothers came around a tree and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw a man standing in front of them. The problem was that this wasn't just any man. This was one they both knew well. He was shorter than Sam but still formidable. He had a long knife in one hand and wore a plain white mask over his face and neck. And even though they couldn't see facial expressions through his mask, it was probably safe to assume he didn't look happy. Dean gasped at the sight, not yet registering that the rumble of the chainsaw had started up again behind him.

"Is that –"

"Dean, meet Michael Myers," Sam said hurriedly, noting the knife coming up and toward the two of them. "We've already met once tonight."

And with that, he used his weight to shove his brother to the ground. The knife swung directly into the chainsaw blade behind them, and metal clashed against metal in a horrific screech. By this time, Dean had recovered from his temporary shock and was coming back to his feet, with added help from his half-panicked little brother.

"Run," Sam whispered when they were both up.

"No arguments here," Dean managed to say as he tried to ignore the pounding in his ankle and took off at a slow stumble.

"This would be a lot faster if I just dumped your dead weight over my shoulder and ran," the younger hunter grumbled.

"No way I'm letting you do that while I'm conscious," came the terse response.

"You've got two choices, Dean: I carry you or I stay behind to make a distraction. I honestly don't care which you pick. Just pick one."

Dean had to really think about this. His pride would never allow him to be carried when he knew he could stand on his own. But his big-brother instincts were screaming at him for even considering letting Sam put himself in danger.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, hearing the two horror-movie characters coming quickly in their general direction. "Pick one now!"

The elder Winchester only had a few short seconds before he felt the rope being looped over his good shoulder.

"What about my choice?" he said, stopping because he knew what his younger brother was doing.

"If you wait too long, the choice gets made for you," Sam answered, his gun now in his hand. "Get to the car – I'll be there soon!"

"You can't kill these guys, Sam!"

"I know that," came the growled reply. "I'm not trying to kill them. I'm trying to provide a distraction so you can get out! So run!"

Then he turned around, firing strategically at their pursuers, running to one side to draw them away. Knowing he didn't have any extra bullets, he stopped firing when he took off at a dead run. He glanced back occasionally to make sure the two were still following him. He wasn't even sure if they were capable of logical thought. In the movies, they seemed more like feral animals than humans or spirits or whatever it was they were. If they were could reason and think, perhaps he could talk to them and find out what was keeping them here. If not . . . well, he didn't want to think about that right now. First, he had to make sure he and Dean both got out of this forest in one piece.

He was brought to an immediate halt when he saw the glint of a metal blade in front of his face, and dimly wondered how Michael Myers managed to get in front of him when he was running so quickly. Then again, stranger things had happened during previous hunts, so he let that thought go as he stepped backwards. Luckily, he tripped over a root that was sticking out of the ground. He went down in a hard heap, which caused him to barely miss the chainsaw blade behind. And just what was it with Jason and coming up behind people, anyway? At least this Michael guy tried a forward approach every so often. He rolled his eyes and crawled to the nearest tree for protection.

Sam figured he should head to the Impala. By this time, if Dean hadn't made it to the car, he would need help anyway. So the younger Winchester put a few well-placed bullets into each of his pursuers and sprinted off, dodging branches and twigs and everything else in his way. He finally cleared the trees and almost stumbled in gratitude when his eyes rested on the car and his brother, leaning against the door and fidgeting while impatiently waiting. They grinned at each other in relief, and Sam permitted himself to slow down slightly. That was when the look on Dean's face changed from relief to terror, and the younger hunter knew one of the two supernatural beings had caught up with him. He tried to dodge whichever blade was coming for him, and thought he had succeeded until he felt a searing pain shoot through the back of his shoulder. The knife was gone almost as soon as it had come, as Dean shot it seven times. He was shouting, but Sam couldn't spare the mental attention to listen. He focused on running, stumbling now, into the passenger side of the car, his good hand wrapped over the top of his other shoulder to try to ease the pain. He slammed the door, and Dean pealed out in his haste to get away.

"Well, that was close," Sam muttered from where he was trying not to lean back against his new gash. "I think I'm bleeding on your car."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked with concern from where he was trying to divide his attention between his brother and the road.

"Yeah, but I got blood on your car."

"Stop worrying about the car, Sam!" Dean snapped.

Sam looked confused, but left the subject alone. "What about your ankle?"

"It feels fine."

The younger brother snorted. "Fine. Right."

"At least it's not bleeding all over."

"I thought we weren't talking about that anymore."

"I didn't say anything about my car. I was talking about your health."

Sam didn't respond, and Dean was afraid he had passed out from blood loss or something until they got to the motel, and both brothers exited the car on their own. They looked battered and bruised. Thankfully, no one tried to stop them as they stumbled into the room, leaning heavily on each other for support.

"Take off your shirt, Sam," Dean ordered as his leg gave out and he collapsed on the bed.

"Why?" the younger hunter asked, sprawling on his stomach on the second bed.

"So I can sew up your shoulder."

"You don't even know if it needs stitches."

"Even if it doesn't, I need to clean it out and bandage it up. Unfortunately for you, it's not in a spot where you can do that for yourself."

"Then take off your shoe so I can wrap up your ankle. I'm doing your wrist, too. You probably broke them both or something."

Dean sighed. "I didn't. But since I know you won't cooperate with me unless I cooperate with you, I'll do it."

He struggled out of his shoe, wincing at his swollen ankle. He assumed it was just sprained, but looking at the ugly bruising on it now, he wasn't so sure. Without pausing to consider it further, he hobbled to the other bed with the first aid kit in his good hand, where Sam had managed to get his shirt off and was sitting completely still. Blood was running freely down his back, and he made no noise as his brother dabbed the dirt and grime away to get a better look.

"It's gonna need stitches, Sammy," Dean said sympathetically, grabbing the needle out.

"Sam," came the response through obviously clenched teeth.

Dean finished patching his little brother up and then moved silently to his bed, where he dropped like a rock and stayed down. A few minutes later, he felt gentle hands touching his wrist, trying to assess damage without causing further pain.

"It's a sprain," Sam announced softly. "I'll wrap it up to keep it stable. But let's check out that ankle first."

Dean's muscles tensed as those warm hands touched his foot. Sam had a sharp intake of breath, and Dean knew it wasn't good. "Well?" he asked, his voice far raspier than he intended it to be.

"I think it's broken."

"No it's not. Just wrap it up and I'll be fine."

"Dean, I'm serious. I'm pretty sure this is broken. We have to get a doctor to cast it."

"I'm not going to a hospital."

There was a moment of silence, and finally Sam said, "Okay, but it's probably going to be a lot more awkward for me to bring the hospital here."

Dean's eyes popped open. "You wouldn't," he said, watching Sam pull out his cell phone.

"Oh, but I would," the younger Winchester smirked.

"Fine. I'll go to the hospital. But can we go in the morning? We're both exhausted."

"No way. You'll back out in the morning. We're going right now. And I'm driving."

"I thought we weren't going to make a habit of you saving me."

Sam grinned as he pulled a clean shirt on. "We're not. I just want to drive your precious car."

Two hours later, when they re-entered the motel room, Dean was sporting a new white cast, using crutches, and complaining miserably. "How are we supposed to finish this hunt like this?"

"I'll finish it," Sam replied. "You can be the geek boy this time."

"I hate you."

The younger hunter smiled. "I know you do."

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NOTE: Hey, I managed to end a chapter without a cliffhanger! I'm really proud of myself. Anyway, I hope it's not horrible. Review to let me know! And thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter One!


	3. Chapter 3

_When they re-entered the motel room, Dean was sporting a new white cast, using crutches, and complaining miserably. "How are we supposed to finish this hunt like this?"_

_"I'll finish it," Sam replied. "You can be the geek boy this time."_

_"I hate you."_

_The younger hunter smiled. "I know you do."_

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After a short but surprisingly restful night's sleep, Sam Winchester rolled to his back and started to sit up just as a sharp pain running through his shoulder reminded him of the previous night's activities. He stifled a groan and looked over at his brother, who was still sprawled unceremoniously all over the next bed. Sam permitted himself a smile as he thought of all of the ways he could get his brother back for the snide comments during his eight weeks with a cast on his hand. It may have been an unfortunate development, but a Winchester would never let a golden opportunity like this go to waste.

He got out of bed and headed for the shower, determined to at least feel refreshed before he started his research. He truly intended for Dean to do most of the paperwork while he did the legwork, but knew it would be like pulling teeth to get real research out of his brother and figured he should get a head start on things if they wanted to make it out of this town before Dean's cast came off in two months.

One shower and a coffee from a nearby diner later, Sam was seated at the table, laptop open and booting up. Dean still hadn't awakened for the day yet, but that was normal. They didn't have anything pressing to do, they were both injured, and he wasn't worried about his brother. That made him sleep more soundly. Sam didn't sleep much since his girlfriend's death two years ago, so when he managed a few hours of dreamless sleep, he was grateful.

Dean groaned as he woke up twenty minutes later, rubbing his eyes and trying to get up before the heavy weight on his leg brought back memories of falling down a well and getting chased by evil movie characters. Wait a minute . . . evil movie characters?

"Sam?" he called after noticing the bed next to him was empty.

"Yeah," his brother answered from the table, not looking up from his computer screen.

"Please tell me I have a bad hangover from getting drunk last night."

Sam's head now poked around the laptop. "You didn't drink anything last night."

"So we're really hunting some movie characters?" he asked, praying this was a sick joke that his mind was playing on him.

"I'm afraid so," came the response as the younger hunter stood. "Are you hungry? I can pick you up some breakfast if you want."

"Yeah, thanks."

"It would help if you tried doing some research while I'm out. Surely you can find some way for me to kill them."

"For you to kill them?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, we had this conversation already. You can't really do a whole lot while you're in that cast, so I'm going to finish the hunt and you're doing the research."

"No, _you_ had this conversation already. I didn't agree with it then and I don't agree with it now. I can help finish this."

"Just look on the internet for ways to kill them while I'm getting something to eat, okay?" the younger brother asked, trying to smooth over the situation so Dean would do more than stew about it while he was gone.

Dean finally nodded. "Fine. But if you think I'm going to sit this one out, you're out of your mind."

Somewhat mollified, the bothers parted ways and Dean made himself comfortable in front of Sam's computer. After two minutes of staring at the screen, he was already bored. How had he managed to do research before Sam came back to be with him? He had no idea, but he was about to go insane. He didn't even know where to begin. And finally, an idea popped into his head. He started typing furiously. Twenty frustrating minutes later, the door opened.

"I can't find anything," Dean said, throwing his hands up as Sam entered with bags of fast food.

"Where all have you checked?"

"I checked the IMDB so far, and I couldn't find any way to kill them."

There was a moment of shocked silence. "You checked the IMDB?" Sam repeated incredulously. "Who does research for a hunt by checking the IMDB??"

"What, like you've never checked the IMDB before?"

"Yeah, when I want to know how old an actor is or who played a certain part!"

"This situation is a little unusual, though, don't you think?"

Sam stayed silent.

"Never mind," Dean growled. "The point is that we still don't have any idea how to kill them."

"What did they try in the movies?"

"Well, with Michael Myers they tried shooting him –"

"Which we also tried," Sam interjected.

"– and they tried pushing him down a mine shaft and lighting him on fire –"

"So those are out."

"– Electrocution and stabbing, but neither of those worked."

"Obviously."

"They even tried shoving him out of a second story window, running him over with a car, and blowing him up."

"How do you kill this guy?!"

The two sat in thought for a few minutes, pondering ways to kill supernatural things that hadn't been tried already.

"And Jason?"

"Uh . . . I think he actually died when someone chopped his head up with a machete."

"He died?"

"And then came back to life when lightning hit a rod some guy was using to stab him."

"Uh oh . . ."

"So they tried drowning him in both water and toxic waste. Then some people blew him up. But he kept getting resurrected because of the whole electricity thing. Oh, and there was something about his heart being the key to him. No one ever destroyed it."

"At least we have a general idea of what to do with him. All we have to do is find his heart and salt and burn it."

"_That_ should be easy. I mean, naturally we know where to find it."

"He supposedly drowned as a child, right? Where did he drown?"

"In a lake at a summer camp."

"Where is it?"

"It's a fictitious place, Sam. It doesn't exist."

Sam took a deep breath. "Clearly something is bringing him here. Were there any lakes around?"

"Are you going to go diving for it or something?" At Sam's expression, he groaned. "No way! What's the matter with you?"

"I'm taking suggestions right now, Dean. So if you think of something, let me know. Until then, I've decided that fighting them both at the same time is a little too much. I'm going to have to take them out one at a time, and I'll start with Michael Myers."

"Why him? At least you have a theory on Jason."

"Yeah, but I can't go diving for a heart when there's another serial killer on my tail. I'll take care of Myers and then kill Jason."

"And what do you plan on doing, exactly?"

"Well," Sam began, "Why don't I just gather some stuff together and go try things until one works?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean said. However, the look on his brother's face was anything but joking. "Ah, crap. You're not joking."

"You got anything better?" When he was met with silence, Sam nodded. "That's what I thought. I'll just grab a bit of everything and go give it a shot."

"What, now?"

"Yeah, now. I don't want to try it again in the dark just yet. Didn't they ever come out in the daytime in movies?"

"Sometimes, but –"

"Then I'm going now."

"I'm going with you."

Sam threw his arms up in frustration. "Not again, Dean. Do I need to explain this to you again?"

"You can try, but I'm still going with you."

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, "Eat breakfast. I'm going for a walk."

Noticing the way Sam had a bag full of bullets, holy water, salt, gasoline, matches, guns, and stakes, Dean was not inclined to accept that answer. Besides, he wasn't a complete idiot.

"You're going for a walk? You don't think I'm going to believe that, do you?"

At the door, Sam paused and turned back. "I don't care if you do or not. I have the car keys _and_ I know you can't move as fast as I can. So give me a call if you come up with anything useful." And then he left.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted at the now-closed door. Unwilling to sit and let his little brother finish this hunt on his own when they had no idea how to stop the things they were hunting. His heart dropped further as he heard the rumble of the Impala's engine fade away. He ran a hand over his face, sighed, and hobbled toward the door. His job was to protect Sam, after all, and he couldn't very well do that by sitting at a motel table surfing the internet. He needed to be out there helping.

The elder Winchester slowly made his way into the parking lot, looking for an available car. Unfortunately, the motel was almost vacant and there was only one vehicle in the entire area . . . a sea-green minivan. "This is so not right," he said aloud as he prepared to steal the car. "Sam, you owe me for this."

A few minutes later, he was driving down the road toward the forest that they'd been in the previous night. He soon came to his beloved car, parked off the street in a very protected area. He had to give his brother credit for that, at least – Sam was apparently taking good care of his baby. But where was Sam?

Parking the minivan, Dean headed into the trees, wincing with each step he took. The pain medication he'd had was wearing off and he knew he shouldn't even be walking with this cast. But crutches were out of the question here. So he continued on, listening for sounds of his brother. Unfortunately, the forest was completely silent. There were no birds, insects, or wind. Confused, he stopped moving, turning in a circle, trusting his highly-trained instincts to lead him to the fight.

"Sam?" he called carefully, knowing it would alert anyone in the area to his position but not really caring. His big-brother sense was flaring like crazy. Something was wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Then he heard a soft thump from somewhere off to his left. He hobbled as quickly and quietly as possible in that direction, praying that it wasn't just a falling twig or something. He could hear more muted sounds as he got closer and was convinced he was nearly there. And then he found his brother . . . or, rather, his brother found him. Sam was flying through the air, narrowly missing the tree next to Dean's head when he crashed fully into the elder hunter and both of them hit the ground with a painful thud.

Sam immediately rolled away, blood running down the side of his face. His arm was wrapped protectively around his stomach, and though Dean couldn't pinpoint the problem right away, he noticed some blood and knew it wasn't good.

"Thanks for breaking my fall," Sam muttered as he got back up. "That would have been really painful otherwise."

"No problem," Dean answered – or tried to, anyway. His breath had been knocked out of him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, eyes continually straying to the spot he had just forcibly vacated. At the ensuing nod from Dean, Sam hauled him to his feet. "Then we need to get back to the motel. Round one went to Myers and I'm not particularly in the mood for round two yet."

They staggered together toward the car, both breathing heavily. Sam was still looking back, making sure they weren't being followed. Dean was surprised that, when they made it to the Impala, his brother tossed him the keys. "You can drive," he offered.

"Thanks for giving me permission to drive my own car," he answered. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," Sam said back. "A bit sore, is all. I'm good. Let's get back to the motel."

"So what all did you try?" Dean asked as they drove away.

"Let's see . . . holy water, a stake to the heart, and silver. None of it even fazed him."

"Did you run across Jason while you were out there?"

"Actually, yeah. He showed up some time during the silver knife. Luckily, it seemed to make Myers made enough that he wanted to kill me all by himself and they got into a bit of a skirmish before I got tossed out of the way. Great timing, by the way."

"You're not going out there by yourself again."

"No arguments this time." Sam groaned softly and leaned back against the seat. "I need to sleep," he mumbled, eyes drooping closed as adrenalin wore off.

"Do you have a concussion?" Dean asked, worried about the way Sam was nodding off now.

"No."

"You sure? Cause you're bleeding all over the place."

That seemed to rouse the younger hunter a bit, and he reached a shaky hand up to his head, seeming to notice the blood for the first time. "Oh. In that case, I'm not sure. But I think I'll pass out now. You can check me for a concussion later."

"Sam, stay awake!" Dean snapped, to no avail. Sam's had already gone completely limp in the passenger's seat. By the time they reached the motel, Dean was in full mother-hen mode. He stumbled over to the other side of the car, ripping open the door and using a spare towel to wipe the blood away from his brother's face. There was a small gash on his hairline, but it didn't look like it would be much of a concussion. Then he reached down to slide Sam's arm away from his stomach, lifting the shirt out of the way, as well. What he saw caused him to inhale in surprise. There was a small piece of tree branch embedded in the skin, blood pooling around it.

"Sammy?" he called, one hand cradling his brother's head. "Sam!"

Eyelids fluttered and finally came open, much to Dean's relief. "I know who I am, what day it is, and how I got here, so don't even ask," Sam mumbled.

"What?"

"I don't have a concussion."

"I know."

"Can we go inside now?"

"Sure, Sammy. Come on."

"Sam," the younger Winchester ground out as he slid out of the car and headed for the room. By the time they made it inside, both of them were exhausted.

"Lay down," Dean ordered, shoving Sam down onto the nearest bed. "I have to get that thing out of you and sew you up again." Sam complied with nothing more than a soft grunt of pain.

"Where did you get the van?" Sam asked after a few minutes of Dean preparing to extract the branch.

"I stole it."

"I got that. From where?"

"Here." Dean got a firm grip on the wood with pliers and steeled himself for jerking it out when Sam's eyes popped open and he sat straight up, looking alarmed. "What?"

"I remember reading something about Myers stealing cars and sitting around waiting for people outside of their houses."

"So?"

"We left the van there, Dean. He could easily get it."

The older hunter took a few steps to the window, glancing out. "He's not out there."

"I just have a really bad feeling."

"Well, let's deal with your bad feeling right after we get this thing out of you."

"Right," Sam said, nodding and laying back down. "Wait – what thing?"

"You've been impaled by a tree, Sam. I'm surprised you didn't notice before."

"That explains the pain down there," came the response. "Just get it out."

"Hold still this time so I can."

Dean set the pliers down on the branch again, squeezing hard so they wouldn't come out. And then he ripped his hands back as hard and fast as he could. Sam groaned miserably but managed to not move. Dean put pressure on the bloody skin with one hand while pulling out a needle with the other. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam hissed between clenched teeth. "Finish it."

"I am. Hold on." He dropped the cloth he was holding and started to sew the skin back together. "Maybe we should get you to a hospital."

Sam didn't answer, and Dean wasn't sure if that was because he was trying to concentrate on holding still or that he thought the suggestion was so stupid it didn't even merit a response. But finally, he finished and started taping up the wound. Blood still oozed between the stitches. He probably should have tried to get the bleeding to stop before he sewed it up. Too late now, though.

"Sammy? You still with me?"

"No," the younger hunter growled. "Is anyone out there yet?"

Dean rolled his eyes and peered out the window, a pit growing in his stomach when he saw the familiar green minivan. "Um . . . yes."

"Is it him?"

"I can't see who's in the driver's seat. But I'm guessing it is because that's definitely the van I stole."

He continued watching, stealing occasional glances at his brother, whom he assumed had fallen asleep. He actually jumped when the driver door opened on the van. He backed away from the window in terror when he realised it was definitely Michael Myers coming toward the room. So now they were trapped, Sam was asleep, Dean still couldn't walk well, and all they had managed to do so far was eliminate a few things that didn't work to kill him.

"Sam?" he called, now looking at the door as though it would attack him. "Sam? I need help here."

There was no response. And the knob on the door started turning.

----------------------

Note: I know there wasn't a lot of action in this one, but I promise to rectify that in the next chapter. And both Sam and Dean will be involved. Thanks to everyone who's reading through this drivel, and especially those who stop to tell me what they think!


	4. Chapter 4

_He continued watching, stealing occasional glances at his brother, whom he assumed had fallen asleep. He actually jumped when the driver door opened on the van. He backed away from the window in terror when he realised it was definitely Michael Myers coming toward the room. So now they were trapped, Sam was asleep, Dean still couldn't walk well, and all they had managed to do so far was eliminate a few things that didn't work to kill him._

_"Sam?" he called, now looking at the door as though it would attack him. "Sam? I need help here."_

_There was no response. And the knob on the door started turning._

----------------------

Dean rushed to Sam's side and started to vigorously shake him, incessantly calling his name in hopes that one of the two actions would wake him. Sam had been right about one thing: Dean wasn't in any condition to be hunting at the moment. And he definitely wasn't in any condition to be defending himself _and_ his brother. A light groan from the bed increased his hopes slightly, but by then, the door was fully open and Michael Myers was standing in the doorway, looking rather menacing and deadly. Dean grabbed his gun from the nearby night stand and aimed it carefully, knowing even as he did so that it meant nothing. The bullets wouldn't even slow him down.

"Sam?" he said again, without taking his eyes off Myers.

Michael Myers suddenly turned his head to the bed, spying the younger Winchester. Then, almost as if he'd seen the prey he wanted, he took two steps forward. Dean guessed that Sam was wide awake now, because suddenly there was a lot of movement on the bed and a grumbled, "Uh oh," before the taller brother leapt completely off the bed and rolled over next to where Dean was standing.

"That's not generally what I'd like to wake up to," he said, panting more from surprise than exertion.

"All the same, thanks for joining me."

Sam looked over then, noticing the rigid stance his brother had. His eyes followed Dean's hands out to the weapon. "What are you doing with that?"

"What do I normally do with guns, Sam?" the elder hunter growled impatiently.

"Bullets won't hurt him."

"I know that. I was hoping to slow him down."

"Believe me when I tell you they don't do that, either."

Michael Myers took a few more steps forward.

Dean nodded slowly. "Well, I'd rather not just lay down and die, and I don't have any other weapons at the moment."

"We should run," Sam whispered, as the two backed up carefully from where they were.

Myers was getting far too close to them for comfort now, and raised his knife. "He is so over dramatic," Dean muttered.

Sam had turned around, and was now grabbing the pillow off Dean's bed and hastily heading for the closest window. "Come on," he said. "We have to get out of here."

"What, through the window?" came the response as Dean took a few measured glances at his brother.

"You got a better idea? Cause I'd rather not lay down and die, either."

Dean licked his lips. "Hurry up, then! He's getting close!"

Sam used the pillow as a shield as he threw his fist through the glass. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, punching out the remaining shards with the same pillow, "he's not actually after you. I think he's still angry over that silver knife. Now get over here and go."

Dean stepped backward just as the knife came down toward his head, and Sam grabbed the back of his jacket with one hand, pulling with all of his strength. The elder brother felt the whoosh of the air in front of his face and only then realised how close he had cut it. Sam practically tossed him through the window, jumping out right after. Dean landed hard on his cast and bit back a grunt of pain, rising to his feet and dragging his little brother up with him. Together, they made a break for the Impala, running as fast as their beaten, weary bodies would allow. And as they reached the car, it became apparent that they weren't going fast enough. Myers was right behind him when Sam jerked the door open. He saw a shadow of a reflection in the window and dropped to the ground, the knife going through the glass and shattering it.

Sam kicked Myers' legs out from under him with great effort, knowing he was going to need to get the undead man away from the car before he could get in himself. He jumped up and took off running, ignoring Dean's shouts and knowing Myers was following him. He didn't have any idea where he was going. He was just running. After a few minutes, he vaguely registered hearing the Impala's engine roar to life but blocked it out in his haste to get away. He only made one mistake: he turned back to see how close his pursuer was. In spite of walking slowly, Michael Myers was still right behind him, and the distraction nearly proved fatal. The knife came down in a swooping arc that had Sam barely able to keep his throat in tact. As it was, the blade slashed through his jacket and caught, sending the younger brother to the ground. Myers refused to let go of the knife, which dragged him down on top of Sam.

What Sam was experiencing at this point could only be classed as blind panic. He had tried every method known to hunters to kill this guy . . . who was a _fictitious character_, by the way, been beaten up and chased, and was now fairly helpless below him. Luckily, Dean chose that moment to show up, the car's rumbling causing Myers to look over at the thing speeding toward them. Sam shoved with all of his might and rolled out of the way. The Impala hit Michael Myers with full force, sending him flying over the hood and to the ground behind. Dean got out and half-ran, half-hobbled to Sam, who was attempting to get up but failing miserably. Together, they made it back to the car and spared a long glance at the ground, where Myers lay unmoving. Sam was panting again, but this time it was definitely from exertion.

"That was unexpected," Dean announced after a second. "I didn't think he'd go down that easy."

"You said they tried that in the movies."

"They did."

"So then he's not dead," Sam continued, backing away. "Let's still drive away."

Nodding his agreement, Dean went back and got in the driver's seat, pealing out in his haste to get away. "Where are we going?"

"How should I know?"

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken when Sam muttered, "Sorry about your stitches."

"Hmm?"

"I think I ripped all of your stitches open," he said, on hand covering the red stain that was slowly spreading across his shirt again.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, trying unsuccessfully to force the concern out of his voice.

"Perfect. I mean, I'm being hunted by two movie characters that I can't figure out how to kill, I just got forced out of the only bed I have to sleep on, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and . . . oh, crap."

The elder Winchester turned to his brother at that, noticing the fingers holding his temples as if to block out intense pain. He jerked his eyes to the road for a split second and then looked back at Sam. "Vision?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Agh," was the response he got, as Sam threw his head back and was suddenly in the full-grips of the images being forced into his mind.

After about five – actually, six and a half, but who's counting? – of the longest minutes of Dean's entire life, Sam seemed to snap out of it. But he didn't sit up or move in any way, just sat like a rag doll.

"You okay?" Dean ventured to ask.

"Yeah," Sam choked out, his voice sounding pathetic even to himself. It was laced with more exhaustion and pain than one person should ever have.

"What happened?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Tell you later."

"Sam . . ."

"Look, it doesn't improve our situation; it's bad news. And there's nothing we can do about it right now, anyway. So we can talk about it later."

Dean recognised the pure enervation in his brother's voice and let the matter drop for now. "We need help," he announced as though it was a major breakthrough.

"I know."

"Let's call Bobby."

"Are you insane? What are you going to tell him? That we're being hunted by movie characters?"

"Well, we _are_."

"Fine. Tell him what you want."

"I know you're tired, Sam . . ."

"I'm feeling a lot more awake, actually," Sam snapped. "I don't want to sleep anymore. Keep me awake."

"Sure, Sammy."

"Sam."

Dean permitted a grin. "Sammy."

The younger hunter's eyes had drifted shut, but he still managed to scowl as he was falling asleep, despite his earlier claims that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Michael Myers wasn't following them in the stolen van. The road behind was clear. Grateful, he took another look at his now-sleeping (or unconscious) brother. Blood was still seeping from Sam's wound and Dean expected that if he were to look, that shoulder wound from earlier had probably started bleeding again, too. He looked down at himself, noticing that his cast had broken and was barely being held on.

"Great, just great," he grumbled.

They needed somewhere safe to go. But the only place he could think of to go was Bobby's, and that was a few states away. So they would have to take refuge in another motel tonight, and just hope that Michael Myers couldn't find them before they left again. Running from a hunt was something that was unheard of in the life of Winchesters. And he wasn't about to start now.

"It's not running, it's a strategic retreat," he said aloud, as though trying to convince himself.

Sam snorted in amusement in the passenger seat.

"You'd better be asleep," Dean warned, realising he'd been caught.

"I definitely am," came the murmured response.

"Good, because if you weren't, I'd have to beat you into submission."

"Consider me beaten," Sam replied, opening his eyes and struggling to sit up. "Where are we?"

"I don't know. New Jersey?"

"Thanks for that," the younger brother grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Is he following us?"

"Not that I've noticed. But that doesn't mean he's not there. So far he's proven to be pretty determined."

"We should go back to the forest."

Dean almost swerved off the road in surprise. "What? I thought you were tired."

"You know, after that vision, I just really don't feel like sleeping any more. We need to end this. We should go back to the forest and kill Jason."

"Sam, you couldn't kill a mosquito right now if it bit you. What makes you think you're capable of killing Jason?"

Sam finally sat all the way up, looking around. "Adrenalin is an amazing thing, Dean. It could keep me going for quite a while. And you, too. Is your cast broken?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Great. Well, let's create a plan and go kill these jerks so I can have a good night's sleep."

"Oh, a _plan_. What a good idea. How come we didn't try that in the first place?"

"Shut up, Dean. I think we were just going about it the wrong way. We need to kill Jason first, and then we can kill Michael."

"And you propose we do this how? We don't have any idea how to kill him and we don't know where to find his heart even if that was the way to do it."

"I've put some thought into this since the last time we had this conversation, and I think I have it figured out now," Sam answered thoughtfully, using his I-got-a-full-ride-to-Stanford tone of voice that bugged Dean so much. "We've lost Michael for a while, and now we can drive back to the forest to hunt Jason. One of us can keep him busy while the other searches for the heart. It won't be in a lake, like I first thought."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"Even if he drowned there two years ago, his remains would have gone through a lot of decomposing. But he supposedly died decades ago. His heart wouldn't be there anymore, and nothing would be keeping him here. Since he's still here, we have to assume his heart is still around, as well. That means someone must have somehow kept it."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Yeah. In fact, I'm pretty sure I know where it is."

"How could you possibly know that?"

Sam smiled mischievously. "I also know that he can be killed. You said he dies, but comes back to life when he's shocked. All we really have to do is kill him so he's out of the way, salt and burn the heart, and then kill Michael Myers."

"Is _that_ all?"

"Jason seems to only come out when we get to a certain part of the forest. I think something is binding him there . . . his heart. It has to be in that grave I found."

"What grave?"

"When we first separated, I stumbled over some sort of grave-shrine thing. I'm guessing that's where the heart is buried. So if you kill Jason, I can dig up the grave and burn it."

"Speaking of when we first separated," Dean interjected, his mind going back to that time, "I thought I heard a woman scream. What was that?"

Sam looked over sharply. "I have no idea. I didn't hear a woman scream. Then again, I was a bit distracted at the time."

"It was probably my imagination," Dean hurriedly said. "Anyway, are you sure this plan of yours will work?"

"Nope. But I don't think we have any choice right now."

"Fine," the elder hunter hissed. "Let's do it before my better judgment tells me how stupid it is."

Dean swung the car around with ease and headed back to the dreaded forest.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Anyway, are you sure this plan of yours will work?" Dean asked._

_"Nope. But I don't think we have any choice right now."_

_"Fine," the elder hunter hissed. "Let's do it before my better judgment tells me how stupid it is."_

_Dean swung the car around with ease and headed back to the dreaded forest._

_----------------------_

"I can't believe I'm willingly going back here already, and I haven't even slept yet," Dean grumbled as they drove along. "Are you sure we shouldn't just find some place to take a nap or something?"

"NO!" Sam shouted eagerly, then relaxed when he saw the look of surprise on his brother's face. "I mean, we really should take care of these guys before we give up."

"I'm not talking about giving up, Sammy. I'm talking about getting some energy so we don't pass out in the middle of the hunt."

"I'm not going to pass out."

Dean lifted an eyebrow but let the statement pass. Sam looked pretty bad, and he assumed he wasn't doing any better in that department. The younger Winchester had blood staining the front of his shirt and the exhaustion emanating from him was almost tangible. Dean's cast was cracked open, causing serious pain on his ankle. He was also dead tired. And they were going to go attack two guys they hadn't been able to kill when fully rested and healthy. It just seemed like a bad idea. What was with Sam's determination to go _right now_?

Regardless of his brother's reasoning, Dean couldn't deny him anything when he was looking so pathetic. That was why, against all logic, he had agreed to the plan. He was supposed to distract Jason while Sam dug up the grave he was so sure the heart was in. How he was going to do this was totally beyond him, but he'd figure something out.

They pulled up next to the forest and got out of the car. Dean's ankle was a constant dull ache, impossible to ignore but not bad enough that he couldn't push it to the back of his mind until the job was done. Sam's hand was still protectively covering his bloody stomach; he was obviously pushing that to the back of his own mind. Something was bugging Dean, though, and he couldn't put his finger on it. But whatever it was, it was driving Sam and he was struggling to keep up.

"Stay close to me until we get there," Sam ordered as he pulled a shovel from the trunk of the car with his free hand. "We really don't want to be separated."

"Is there something you're not telling me, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam forced a smile and responded with, "It's Sam," without answering the question. "Now let's get in there."

The elder hunter shrugged and followed his brother for a while. But Sam's longer legs and lack of a broken ankle gave him quite a large advantage. He was soon falling behind.

"Where's the fire, Sam?" he called out, leaning against a nearby tree for support.

Said brother turned around, concern and guilt clouding his face. "Sorry," he said, coming back. "Are you okay? We can walk slower."

"I don't even know how you can be in turbo speed when you haven't slept in days. Aren't you tired? I mean, a while ago you were begging for rest."

"Uh, no – not tired. That vision I had gave me a little extra energy."

"The vision gave you extra energy?" Dean repeated dumbly, with a look of disbelief.

"Yeah. Cool, huh? Keep walking."

Okay, there was definitely something wrong here. Unfortunately, Sam didn't seem to want to stop to talk about it and Dean was being forced to use all of his concentration in staying on his feet so he couldn't afford to ponder it more. He'd get back to it later, when they had finished off these guys and caught up on their sleep.

"Are we there yet?" Dean grumbled after a few minutes.

"What are you, four?"

"Are we or not?"

"Yes, we are. In fact," Sam announced, coming to a halt so quickly his brother bumped into his back, "we're here."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He's been coming out when I get to that over there," the younger hunter replied, pointing to where a crude grave had been made, complete with a cross made out of tree branches, tied together with a shoelace.

"Well, get over there, then," Dean urged. "I don't want to wait around all night."

Sam shook his head at his brother, walking forward with the shovel gripped tightly in his left hand. He was tempted to bring it up for a club-like weapon, but knew Dean would endlessly tease him for it. It was sad, since Dean hadn't really had any close-up encounters with Jason Voorhees, but Sam had already had a few and didn't care for any more. That was probably the reason he wanted Dean to be the distraction.

When the toe of his shoe touched the grave, Jason made his appearance. If Sam hadn't been prepared for it this time, he probably would have lost his head. There wasn't even the rumble of the chainsaw this time for warning. The shovel flew from Sam's hands and the hunter barely managed to twist out of the way of the saw blade. Then he got hit hard in the side of the face with the handle of the chainsaw, apparently while Jason was regrouping. He flew to the ground.

"Dean!" he called, scrambling for the shovel a few feet away.

"Hey!" Dean shouted immediately, hobbling toward Jason to get his attention.

Sure enough, the undead man locked his eyes on the elder hunter, heading that direction instantly. Dean turned to run, but tripped when his cracked cast caught on some roots below him, and went down in a heap. He scrambled to a sitting position, his hand closing over a rock next to him. He threw the rock with all of the rest of his strength, and gasped in relief when it hit the blade of the chainsaw, knocking it out of Jason's hands to the ground. Gratefully, he dropped to his knees, expecting the fight to be pretty much over. Really, what could Jason do without his chainsaw? The only other weapon he ever used was a machete . . .

The elder Winchester surged back to his feet when he realised what he'd been thinking. Jason's weapon of choice wasn't the chainsaw in the first place. And Dean got up just in time to dodge the swinging blade by dropping back to the dirt and moss below him, groaning when he landed in a position that twisted his ankle.

"Hurry up, Sam!" he growled. "I can't hold him off forever!"

"I'm digging as fast as I can!" Sam retorted, chucking a shovel full of dirt over his shoulder. It was taking a long time, but he really was doing his best.

Dean shouted something obscene in return and then there was a loud thud before silence. Sam tried to ignore that, brushing it away from his conscience so he could focus on his task. In retrospect, it would have been a better idea to let the guy with the broken ankle but healthy upper body do the shoveling and the guy with the torn stitches in the stomach and back but perfectly fine legs do the running around. But it was too late for that now. Instead, he continued to pile dirt on the sides of his growing hole.

Sam almost yelled in joy when his shovel finally hit something solid, and he quickly brushed the dirt away to reach the coffin. Prying it open, he found just what he'd expected – a decomposing heart. It was practically nonexistent and it smelled terrible. He poured a generous amount of salt on it and the coffin, then hauled himself onto the higher ground as he poured the gasoline all over it. Finally, with a twisted grin, he tossed in the match and watched as the hole filled with flames. He whirled just in time to watch Jason collapse to the ground, twitching as though in a seizure. Then he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.

"Finally," Sam breathed, now turning around to find Dean. The elder hunter was on the ground a few feet away, not moving. "Dean!" he shouted, crawling over as quickly as possible.

Dean groaned as Sam's hands on his throat drew him from unconsciousness. Was Sam checking for his pulse? His eyes snapped open as he remembered what was going on. "Jason –"

"Gone," Sam interrupted, relieved that his brother was still alive and apparently not too much the worse for wear. "Dead. Burned. Smoked. Eradicated."

"Eradic–"

"Let's get you up," Sam said, interrupting again before Dean could make fun of his vocabulary. "Can you stand?"

"I guess so," Dean answered, trying to shrug off his brother as he was pulled to his feet. His broken leg throbbed unmercifully, but his other leg readily held his weight when he stepped down on it. "I'm good."

Sam let go, but stood nearby in case Dean collapsed. "Michael Myers is probably on his way back here by now. And for that, I have no idea what to do. How should we kill him?"

The elder hunter looked up at his little brother with a weak form of malice in his hazel eyes. "If I had any idea, Sammy, I promise I would have told you already."

"It was more of a brainstorming question than an accusation, Dean," Sam said, holding his hands out to his sides in a conciliatory gesture.

"Right. Sorry." He leaned back against a tree and studied his brother, who seemed to find something educational in the grave ahead. Either that, or he had zoned out to think. Dean guessed it was the latter.

A sudden crack of dried leaves and twigs brought them both out of their separate reveries. "Here he comes," Sam announced unnecessarily. They crouched down behind the tree Dean was leaning on and waited.

"We've tried everything," Dean snapped from their hiding place. "Nothing kills this guy!"

"Has anyone ever tried to decapitate him?"

Dean looked incredulously at his brother. "Cut his head off? I actually don't think so."

"Okay . . . why don't we chop him into little tiny pieces and salt and burn each one?"

The elder brother stared for a few seconds before replying, "That's disgusting, Sam. Truly disgusting." Then he smiled. "Let's do it . . . right after a good night's sleep."

"NO! No, no, no, no. We don't need to sleep. Let's just finish him off tonight."

"Look, Sam, I really need to know what's going on."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been acting kind of funny for a while now – ever since the vision, actually. I need to know why before you kill me from lack of sleep."

Sam took a deep breath. "It was my vision."

Dean waited a second for more, but nothing was forthcoming. "And what? It really did give you extra energy?"

"Hardly," the younger Winchester grumbled mirthlessly. "It made me think twice about sleeping."

"Yeah? Why's that? What happened in your vision?"

"Uh . . ."

"Spit it out, Sammy."

"Have you ever seen Nightmare on Elm Street?"

Dean pondered this question for just a second before its meaning started to sink in, and his eyes widened. "Freddy?"

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wouldn't have helped us. It was just more bad news, and I'm sick of being the bearer of it."

The two sat uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by, not looking at each other. Finally, Dean licked his lips and broke the silence with a characteristic comment: "Well, at least we haven't met Frankenstein and the mummy yet. Things could always get worse."

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NOTE: Congrats to everyone who reviewed and guessed some of the "surprises" I whipped up here. I enjoyed reading the reviews because so many people had the same ideas I did! Thanks for your great support! And this won't go on until I've used every horrible 80's horror movie villain known to man, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

_"Have you ever seen Nightmare on Elm Street?"_

_Dean pondered this question for just a second before its meaning started to sink in, and his eyes widened. "Freddy?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Damn."_

_"Yeah."_

_"Why didn't you say anything?"_

_"It wouldn't have helped us. It was just more bad news, and I'm sick of being the bearer of it."_

_The two sat uncomfortably as the minutes ticked by, not looking at each other. Finally, Dean licked his lips and broke the silence with a characteristic comment: "Well, at least we haven't met Frankenstein and the mummy yet. Things could always get worse."_

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"So what's the consensus, then?" Dean continued. "Are we not allowed to sleep until he's taken care of?"

"I don't know how to kill him," Sam groused. "So my plan right now is to kill Michael Myers and deal with Freddy Krueger once he's the only one left."

"Yeah, well, your first plan was to kill Michael Myers and then take care of Jason. But that didn't work out, did it? Maybe we should just kill Freddy and then figure out Myers."

"Why?"

"Because we don't know how to kill either one."

Sam sighed and put a hand over his eyes. "I need a break."

"Me, too."

"Okay, why don't we kill Freddy and then kill Michael?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Gee, why didn't I think of that? How do you plan on killing Freddy?"

"Uh . . . We have to get him out of our dreams."

"Yeah?"

"I actually saw this movie. You have to wake up while he's attacking you in order to bring him out."

"No way are you doing it, Sam."

"Why not?" the younger hunter griped. "I have some freakish psychic ability that could be helpful. And I'm not letting you do it."

"You could die in there."

"So could you."

They stared uneasily at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally, Dean put a hand up over his eyes as though blocking his sight would erase what was going on. "I don't like this."

"You think I do? But we both know it has to be me. You can kill him as soon as I wake up. Make sure you wake me up."

"Why does it have to be you?"

"You're better at killing things," Sam insisted. "Besides, we may not have a choice in the matter."

"What? Why?"

Looking at his older brother, Sam drew a weary hand up to his face. "I haven't slept in a while, I think I'm still bleeding, and I'm practically dead on my feet."

"Not a good figure of speech, Sammy," Dean growled.

"Anyway, I think I'm going to pass out. And I have a feeling he'll attack when I do."

"You can't be dreaming if you're unconscious."

"I've already had a vision of him, Dean. He knows I'm here."

The elder hunter licked his lips nervously. "How do I wake you up?"

"I don't know. Just do what you usually do. I'm sure I'll wake up to it."

"And if you don't?"

"I will," Sam said calmly, trying to reason with his brother. "Now, we should probably go somewhere where it will be easier to control him when we've got him out here."

"Where? We can't go back to the motel because Michael Myers is there, and I don't think I can hold him off while waking you up and then killing Freddy Krueger."

"Wait a minute, Dean," the younger Winchester suddenly said. "We heard that noise a while back.""So?"

"So I'm pretty sure Michael Myers is here already."

Nearby, another twig snapped, and both brothers nearly jumped into each other's laps as they whirled toward the sound. Breathing heavily from sheer panic, they started to back away from where they'd heard movement. The forest became eerily silent as they waited.

"Do you see him anywhere?" Sam whispered after a few moments.

"Do you think I'd be standing here doing nothing if I did?" Dean retorted.

Sam took that time to shoot his brother a dirty look, and it was a good thing he did, because when he turned his head, he saw movement behind them out of his peripheral vision. Without a word, he violently shoved himself into his brother, taking them both to the ground. The swinging knife barely missed them.

"Sam, what the – look out!" Dean shouted, looking up from where he had landed on his back underneath his larger little brother and noting the crazed killer above them. His strong arms grabbed his brother's and he used all of his strength to roll them both out of the way.

The younger hunter was recovering by this time and managed to get up, one hand protectively covering the bleeding wound on his stomach that kept pulling painfully when he moved. "I guess we're taking care of Myers right now," he called to Dean.

Dean was struggling to get up, his broken cast reminding him of his throbbing but practically useless limb. He noticed his brother trying to distract Michael. They had decided on decapitation, so the elder Winchester figured that was the best course of action. Unfortunately, he had left his knife in the Impala. He either needed time to go get it – which he didn't have – or to steal Myers'. That sounded like an excellent plan, considering that then their enemy wouldn't be armed. He used a tree to drag himself up and looked back at where the fight was currently raging.

Sam dodged the knife as much as he could, praying his brother would run away. Somewhere in the back of his head, his logic promised him that Dean would never leave him, but he could still hope. Dean had stumbled to a dead branch by this time, determined to use it as the only weapon he currently had which might be useful. As his hands closed around it, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold: his brother.

Sam felt the knife slice through his shirt and skin like butter, dimly registering pain and the soft grunt that was torn from his own mouth. He blindly kicked out and thought his foot connected with something, but couldn't be sure. His vision was going gray around the edges. Normally, this would have concerned him, but his exhaustion clouded out his judgment and he felt too detached to care about anything. Instinctively trying to find his brother, his darkening eyes searched the area in vain. He let out the breath he had and crumpled to the ground.

The elder Winchester yelled when he saw Sam go down, angrily using his tree branch as a club. Somehow, Sam had managed to kick Michael Myers's hand as he fell, and the knife flew from his hand. Dean viciously slammed the wood into Myers's head, throwing the murderer off while he dove for the weapon. His fingers closed around the handle and he rolled to his back, ready to strike. But Michael was nowhere to be seen.

He looked around for a while, trying to understand what had happened. When nothing changed after almost a full minute of sitting and staring while wielding the knife, Dean got to his knees and crawled to his brother. He parted Sam's shirt to see how bad the wound was, wincing when blood prevented him from doing so. At his movement, though, the younger hunter's eyes fluttered open to slits.

"Wake me up, Dean," he mumbled slowly.

"What, Sam?"

"Wake me . . ." Sam muttered brokenly, as though speaking took up almost all of his energy. "Freddy . . . wake . . ."

Dean had forgotten about Freddy. And now that Sam was rapidly falling unconscious, they would have to deal with this new problem.

"Wait – stay with me until we get to the car, at least," he insisted, one hand on his brother's cheek. "I need a weapon!"

But Sam's only response was for his eyes to slide closed and his body to go limp. Dean momentarily panicked, checking the younger hunter's pulse and releasing his own held breath only when he felt the thump under his fingers. He prayed that Michael Myers would stay away long enough for them to take care of Freddy. They deserved that much, at least.

Then again, when had fate ever dealt them a fair hand?

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NOTE: I have been receiving the kindest reviews on this story, and I really can't tell you guys how good it makes me feel. I wasn't too sure about this story when I first posted it, but believe me when I say that your stellar comments are the only reason I've been keeping it up! Thanks!

By the way, I have a quick message for Poaetpainter: NO PENNYWISE!!! I have a thing against clowns. They terrify me. Not a lot of things scare me, but clowns do. I don't think I could even write in complete sentences if there were clowns involved. And that fear originated long before IT or the Supernatural clowns episode. I'll take suggestions on other "scary" creatures, though. Just not clowns. A big NO on clowns. Sorry about my irrational outburst. Thanks for reviewing, at least. You're great!


	7. Chapter 7

_But Sam's only response was for his eyes to slide closed and his body to go limp. Dean momentarily panicked, checking the younger hunter's pulse and releasing his own held breath only when he felt the thump under his fingers. He prayed that Michael Myers would stay away long enough for them to take care of Freddy. They deserved that much, at least._

_Then again, when had fate ever dealt them a fair hand?_

----------------------

Sam sat straight up, more than aware that since his body was no longer in a lot of pain, he must be dreaming. And he was fairly lucid, so he knew Freddy Krueger must already be attacking him. He found himself in a forest exactly like the one his body was currently resting in.

"Didn't take you long, did it?" he said aloud, looking around for some sign of the murdering Freddy. Instead, he heard a familiar giggle, and turned around in horror, eyes immediately going to his murdered girlfriend, Jessica. She looked radiant, healthy, and strong. And she was smiling.

"It's been a while, Sam," she said, taking a step forward. "I've missed you."

"Freddy, if this is your idea of a nightmare, sign me up," the hunter commented as a grin creased his face. He took a few steps toward her, reaching out a hand. She returned the gesture; but before she could touch him, a man appeared behind her, wrapping one arm around her forehead and drawing a sharp knife across her throat. Blood splattered and Sam's mouth dropped open in shock. Then he was angry.

"You can't manipulate me like that," he announced. "I know what you're doing. And Dean is going to wake me up soon, so we'll be able to kill you for good."

"Many have tried," the man who had so recently slit Jessica's throat said, his voice low an raspy. "But all have failed." Sam's eyes were drawn to his hideously deformed face and the sharp knives attached to each finger.

"I forgot you're one of those horror characters that actually speaks," Sam grumbled back. "Well, if you can manipulate me, I can manipulate you." He thought carefully, imagining a shotgun behind the closest tree, and then grinned when his hand closed around it. He pumped the barrel once, aimed, and fired. The bullet, which hit Freddy right between the eyes, didn't even cause his head to jerk.

"Wake up!" Sam shouted at himself.

"You can't," the nightmare killer retorted. "Your brother can try to wake you up, but you aren't leaving here until I allow you to."

"You'd better let me out, then," the hunter snapped. "Because I may not be able to kill you, but I can make you miserable."

"Your threats are pathetic."

Before he could answer, the world became blurry and then cleared again. The young Winchester found himself on the ground, shotgun still in hand, and suddenly heard another voice that he recognised. Logically, he knew it wasn't really Dean, but his heart argued, especially when dream-Dean said, "Sammy? You gotta help me, man. I need help."

"I know this is a dream," Sam reiterated for Freddy's sake. Where had he gone, anyway? It seemed he had disappeared when Dean showed up.

"It's not a dream. I woke you up from the dream and I tried to kill Freddy but he got me bad, Sam." It was then that Sam noticed his brother's hand covering a wound on his stomach. Blood flowed out and over his skin like a fountain. Nobody should be able to lose that much blood and still be standing. And then Dean dropped to his knees.

"Help me, Sam!" the elder hunter mumbled, blood leaking out from the side of his mouth. "I can't – hold – on."

Dean collapsed bonelessly to the ground, and all of Sam's senses were in chaos. He wanted – no, _needed_ – to go to his brother and make it better, but yet he knew it wasn't real. Freddy Krueger would certainly get him if he allowed his guard to go down, even for a second. Dean's body twitched a few times, then went deathly still.

"It's a dream!" Sam shouted as his body went forward involuntarily, kneeling next to his brother and feeling for a pulse. "It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream. . ."

Dean's eyes fluttered once, coming open to slits. "You could have saved me, Sammy."

"No," came the whispered reply. "It's just a dream."

"It's not," his brother answered. "I woke you up . . ." He trailed off, going completely limp.

There was no steady throb of a heartbeat under Sam's fingers. In fact, Dean's skin was icy. The low temperature seemed to seep into Sam's skin, making his own heart feel colder. Really, was it a dream? Had Dean woken him up? Had he been too out of it to notice? Had he really just let his brother die?

Yet another voice startled Sam, but he refused to look away from his brother's bloody body. Instead, the words that were spoken chilled him even more.

"You know," Bobby Singer said from nearby, "Dean always said he only had one job – to protect you. I wish he could have counted on you to watch his back, too."

"It's a dream," Sam repeated as unbidden tears slipped out of his eyes.

"It's not a dream, Sam. It's real. Are you ever going to face reality? You are completely helpless."

"I'm not helpless."

"Then why are you still sitting here doing nothing? Your brother would have at least tried to avenge _you_ by now. But you're sitting here like a coward."

"Bobby, please," the younger hunter said. "I know it's a dream."

"You're not worthy of being a Winchester," Bobby growled.

----------------------

Dean frantically tore Sam's already tattered shirt into pieces and used them to put pressure on the newest wound that these stupid horror movie characters had inflicted. It was a shallow cut and wouldn't even need stitches, but it would make the poor kid even more sore than he already was.

He wondered how long he needed to let Sam stay unconscious. He couldn't wake his brother up unless he was being attacked so they could draw Freddy Krueger out, but he also couldn't wait so long that Freddy somehow managed to hurt Sam. A few minutes later, when Sam twitched and moaned, Dean figured that even if it was just a bad dream, he needed his brother to wake up.

"Sam," he called, one hand gently shaking the younger Winchester's shoulder. "Sam, wake up."

He received no answer. Worried now, he shook harder and called out a little louder. But still, there was nothing. Then he heard another twig snap, remembered Michael Myers, and freaked out.

"SAM!" he shouted. "WAKE UP!"

The woods fell into an eerie silence around him, except for the occasional footstep as Myers got closer.

----------------------

"I _am_ a bad brother," Sam acknowledged, shaking his head and finally tearing his eyes away from Dean's dead body.

"And you're a coward," Bobby added.

"Yeah, you said that already."

"And the whole geek-boy thing? Dean only calls you that because he wants you to feel special. But he was doing research just fine before you came back."

"Wait a minute," Sam said, looking at where Bobby stood casually leaning against a tree. "How did you know to come here?"

"Dean called me, asking for help. Said his useless little brother couldn't figure out how to kill a couple of stupid murdering ghosts."

"No, he didn't. He told me you'd laugh at us." He took a step forward, tilting his head to one side as his logic took over once more. "But you wouldn't do that. None of this is real. I have to give you points, Freddy. You nearly got me."

Bobby grinned, then morphed into the deformed killer. "I try."

"Why are you attacking the things I love, instead of me? Normally you kill the person whose dream you're in so you can absorb their life force."

"You've done your homework, I see. Well, it won't save you. I still intend to kill you."

"No doubt."

Sam looked around himself, carefully watching his foe to make sure no sudden movements were made in his direction. "Come on, Dean," he whispered. "Do something that will wake me up for sure." He tapped his fingers on the shotgun he was still holding until an idea occurred to him. "Pain – pain wakes people up. Dean said stabbing yourself in your dreams makes you wake up."

"Whatever happens to you here happens to you there when I'm around," Freddy warned with a smirk.

"I know, you idiot. When I want your input, I'll ask for it." Boy, that was uncharacteristic. Maybe he was going through Dean-withdrawals. He thought for a few more seconds. "Dean needs to cause me pain there, so it will draw me out."

Freddy laughed.

----------------------

"Sammy, you have to wake up _right now_," Dean hissed. Nothing happened. "I'm serious, Sam – I can't hold off Myers and kill Freddy at the same time. I don't even have a good weapon. I need you to get up here and help me."

Another footstep sounded, this time way too close. The elder Winchester whirled around in surprise, noticing Michael Myers right above him with the knife raised. "Why can't you people ever come up in front of someone?" he grumbled, using his good leg to swipe Myers's feet out from under him. "And how did you get your knife back?"

Obviously, there was no answer. Dean was almost frantic now. He couldn't carry his brother away and had no weapon. All he knew was that he couldn't let anything hurt Sam while he was unconscious.

----------------------

"Your brother isn't going to help you," Freddy announced.

"I swear you didn't used to make commentaries during everyone else's nightmares," Sam groused. "Why can't you shut up during mine?"

"There's something special about you, Winchester."

"So I've heard. It's not news. Shut up and let me think."

"You know I can kill you here."

Sam shrugged, the useless shotgun still pointed at his foe. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one a million times and I'm still alive."

"Your gun won't stop me."

"I noticed."

Abruptly, Freddy sprang forward, arms outstretched in a vicious attack. His knife-like fingers barely missed slicing Sam's head off. And then his momentum carried him directly into the hunter, taking them both to the ground. His claws grazed Sam's thigh and drew blood. Sam groaned and then kicked out, throwing the killer away from him long enough to prepare himself for the next attack.

----------------------

While Michael Myers was getting up, Dean heard a soft groan and looked at his brother just in time to see blood appear on his leg. "Sam!" he yelled. "You've got to wake up _now_!" He managed to crawl to his feet, hanging miserably onto a tree and looking frantically for a weapon. Finding nothing, he resorted to kicking his brother in the leg, harder than he probably should have, but he didn't care at that point because he'd been trying to wake Sam up for so long. Dean didn't have the energy to spare on checking Sam's reactions anymore. Instead, he reached down for a tree branch to use like a bat. It was better than nothing.

The abusive boot had jolted the younger Winchester awake. His eyes snapped open and he reluctantly realised that all he had in his hand was Freddy's fedora. He'd forgotten that he was supposed to physically drag the nightmare killer out of his dream. He'd have to go back.

For now, though, Dean desperately needed help. Sam ignored the pain in his torso and leg and crawled quickly to where he had left the salt, gasoline, and matches. Naturally, it wouldn't kill Michael, but it might distract him long enough for them to get away. A grunt of pain from his brother caused him to hurry, running toward the fight with his remaining energy. He heaved the salt at Myers without rhyme or reason, then squirted all of the leftover gasoline on him.

"Dean, move!" he barked out, lighting a match, throwing it, and dropping to the ground with his arms covering his head. He could only hope his brother had gotten out of the way. He stayed in his position for a few moments, until everything was silent except someone panting several feet away.

"Dean?" he asked, looking up and gratefully seeing his brother, out of breath and in pain, crouched next to the tree where Sam had dropped Freddy's hat. Michael Myers was not in sight.

"You could have warned me," Dean grumbled.

"Why do you think I told you to move?"

"The beauty of a warning, Sammy," the elder hunter snarled, "is that you say it _before_ you do something and not _while_ you do something so whoever you're warning can get away."

"I gave you a second or two."

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to get up, failing miserably. Sam crawled over, and the two examined each other. "I need to put bandages all over you," Dean announced at the same time that his brother said, "Your leg is bleeding!"

They stopped, snorted a laugh in spite of the situation, and helped each other get up.

"What happened to your leg?" Sam asked as they stumbled together toward the car.

"I was trying out a new dance move while you were unconscious," Dean growled, ignoring the stab wound that now plagued his formerly good leg. "What do you think happened to it?"

"Sorry I asked," the younger Winchester hissed back.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest, noticing both the Impala and the green van that Michael Myers had stolen. Without an extra word, they went to Dean's car. Sam pulled the gun from the glove compartment, stood straight, and shot two of the tires on the van out.

"You think that will stop him?" Dean asked.

"Nope," came the reply as Sam roughly dropped into the passenger seat. "But all I really want to do is slow him down until we know how to take care of him."

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NOTE: Yeah. I know – stupid place to end a chapter. But if I hadn't ended it here, it could have taken another week for me to finish it. I'm trying really hard to update every four days, but I'm not sure that will work this time. Anyway, keep reading!


	8. Chapter 8

_After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest, noticing both the Impala and the green van that Michael Myers had stolen. Without an extra word, they went to Dean's car. Sam pulled the gun from the glove compartment, stood straight, and shot two of the tires on the van out._

_"You think that will stop him?" Dean asked._

_"Nope," came the reply as Sam roughly dropped into the passenger seat. "But all I really want to do is slow him down until we know how to take care of him."_

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Dean was still leaning on the passenger side of the car when Sam finally looked over and asked, "It's only buying us a little time, dude. Why aren't we leaving?"

"I . . . uh . . ." the elder hunter began uncertainly.

Sam raised an eyebrow, and then his gaze roamed first to his brother's bleeding leg, and finally to the broken cast. "Oh," he muttered, dragging himself out of the car. "Why don't I drive?"

Taking a deep breath, Dean pulled the keys out and held them by two fingers. "You know how much this hurts me?"

"Yeah," came the response as Sam jerked the keys away and stumbled to the driver's seat. "But we both know you can't drive like that."

"I'm not sure you're any better. On second thought, maybe I should –"

"No," the younger brother interrupted. "Get in the car and let's go. The longer we stand out here arguing about it, the more time Myers has to catch up to us."

A short while later, they found themselves back at their motel, patching each other up. Dean's leg needed stitches, he needed a new cast, Sam's torso and leg needed stitches, and both of them needed a week of sleep. Unfortunately, they couldn't take care of the sleeping at the moment. Dean fixed his brother's ripped stitches and put in new ones to the gash in his leg, then Sam returned the favor to Dean's leg. Finally, Sam applied the temporary splint from their first aid kit to Dean's broken ankle after removing the pieces of cast that were still barely hanging on, wrapping it securely.

"That won't hold," he announced. "I mean, if the real one from the doctor didn't stay on, this one won't. It's just to give you a little support until we can get you back to the hospital."

Dean, who had dropped onto his bed in exhaustion, grunted his acknowledgment of the statement and let his eyes slip closed.

"Hey," Sam snapped. "I'm the one taking a short nap here, remember?" He shook Dean's shoulder gently and scowled when he got no response. His brother had either fallen asleep or was unconscious. That meant he was pretty much on his own for taking care of Freddy Krueger. He would have liked nothing better than to wait until Dean could back him up, but Michael Myers was probably already on his way, which meant they had little or no time left. He dropped into a nearby chair and pulled out his cell phone, dialing a familiar number only as a last resort.

"Bobby?" he asked when someone answered the other end.

"Is that you, Sam?" Bobby returned.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, I have kind of an odd question for you."

"Coming from a Winchester, that's not good."

Sam snorted, trying to sound amused but failing. "Look, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you the whole story, so I'll just get straight to the point. Let's say there's a creature that can only attack people in their dreams."

"Sam, there _are_ creatures that can only attack people in their dreams."

"Yes, but you can only kill this one if you wake up while you're having a dream he's in and you pull him into reality with you."

There was an uncomfortably long pause on the other end as Bobby digested this. Finally, he said, "Sam, are you drunk?"

The younger hunter rolled his eyes. "I _knew_ you wouldn't believe me. I knew it!"

"You're probably drunk. Have you two been watching horror movies?"

"No, Bobby, we haven't."

"Let me talk to Dean."

"I can't. He's sleeping . . . or unconscious."

"What? What happened?"

Sam sighed again. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Does this have anything to do with Nightmare on Elm Street?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Sam could almost feel Bobby nodding disbelievingly at this. "Okay, Sam. Let's say this creature of yours is real. What's your question?"

"How do I kill it?"

"After you've pulled it into reality, of course."

"Right."

There was another pause. "Have you tried anything?"

"I couldn't pull him out with me. I ended up with his hat."

"Are you sure you're not drunk?"

"Never mind, Bobby. I'll figure something out," Sam grumbled, ending the call in spite of his friend's worried voice still coming over the line. "I knew he'd think we were insane," he murmured to himself. "And when another hunter thinks you're crazy, that's really bad." He looked over to where Dean lay helpless and prayed that Freddy wasn't attacking his brother right then. But that single thought gave him the stamina to go in after the dream killer by himself.

Since this was one of the few horror movies he had bothered to watch, he decided to do what the girl in the movie had done. He set the alarm on his phone to go off in ten minutes, then started preparing weapons that he put in strategic places around the motel room so he would definitely be able to find at least one. Fire had seemed to really bother Freddy Krueger when the girl lit him up, so he also put out a lighter underneath his pillow, hoping he would have the presence of mind to grab it.

Just then, his cell phone rang. Absently, he picked it up and answered. "What?"

"I'm sorry about that, Sam," Bobby's voice said clearly through the line. "Whatever you need, I can help you. What's going on?"

"I already told you. Besides, I know you'll think I'm insane and I don't have time to deal with that right now. Call back tomorrow, okay?" And then he hung up again. He would just turn the phone off so he could concentrate, except he needed the alarm on it to work in order to wake him up. With any luck, it would wake up Dean, too. Then he might have extra help.

When everything was set up acceptably, he dropped onto the bed with more force than he had intended. His body was aching and sore, and he could barely move. "Here's hoping I have enough adrenalin to finish this," he whispered as his eyes drooped closed. Within only a few seconds, he was asleep.

----------------------

Sam suddenly sat straight up in bed, looking around the motel room. Everything was as it had been when he'd fallen asleep. Dean was still sprawled unceremoniously across the other bed. The weapons were still strewn across the floor, tables, and chairs. Checking his phone, he discovered that he had been asleep only two minutes. So what had made him wake up so soon? Surely _something_ had happened. What if Michael Myers was back already?

He listened intently for sounds outside, cringing when he heard shuffling footsteps nearing the door. He rolled easily out of bed, snagging the lighter on his way and reaching for the nearest gun with the other hand. Armed, he was ready for when the door would swing open. Then, he stopped and got a confused expression on his face. Did he just roll out of bed _easily_? He'd just had how many stitches put into his body, and he was standing here feeling just the slightest twinges of pain? Standing on a leg that Freddy Krueger had gashed with his claw-like fingers only a short time before? It took a lot longer than it should have, but realisation finally set in, and Sam knew he was still asleep. But man, that was weird. Who knew how much time he really had to be in this dream world?

In spite of all that, the door still opened, and it was definitely Michael Myers standing there. The young Winchester prayed that this wasn't what was happening in reality. Both he and his brother were pretty helpless at that moment. Out of morbid curiosity more than anything else, he jerked up his gun and fired. Myers flinched from the shot, and went down shakily, rising again slowly. At least he had proof that it was a dream.

Freddy Krueger appeared at the door just behind where Myers's body had fallen and was struggling to get back up, stepping around the murderer and entering the room.

"Hi, Sam," he said, a wicked smile crossing his scarred cheeks.

"Not again with the conversations," the hunter muttered.

"You think you can really stop me this time, don't you?" he went on, as though there had been no comment made.

"Actually, I _am_ going to stop you. One rather annoying quality about Winchester hunters is that we don't let things go easily. So I'm going to kill you before you do anything to hurt anyone else."

"And what about brother Dean?" Freddy asked. "Don't you wonder what we've been up to while he wasn't awake?"

Sam faltered momentarily, then regained his composure. "Doesn't matter," he said. "I'm going to kill you regardless of whether or not you've gone near my brother. You should feel lucky, actually – I'm going to make it quick. If I knew you had hurt Dean, it would be a long and painful death."

He glanced down at his cell phone again, seeing that he had only one minute until he alarm went off. He hoped this dream was realistic in that respect, because if that phone was right, he should be waking up in that one minute. And in order to drag Freddy out of the dream world, they had to be physically touching when it happened. Throwing the gun he was holding and shrugging his shoulders carefully for twenty seconds (and yes, he did count), Sam suddenly dove at a rather surprised Freddy Krueger. They collided heavily and hit the ground. Michael Myers was, by this time, on his feet again and coming at them, knife in hand. Sam was sitting on top of Freddy when he saw the swipe out of the corner of his eye and rolled himself underneath his opponent. The knife slashed across Freddy's back.

And then the alarm went off.

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NOTE: Wow – my humblest apologies, everyone! I had a pathetic case of writer's block. I was still having issues with it when I decided to sit down and write this chapter anyway. I hope to get that all ironed out so it doesn't happen again in the future.

In the meantime, I have a random question for people – would anyone be interested in reading anything I wrote that had original characters and storylines in it? I was pondering posting stuff on another site but I don't want to do it if no one is going to read it. Don't worry about hurting my feelings; I'm pretty hearty.

I have to say something to Heather really quick: Thanks for keeping me straight. I actually forgot that Dean probably couldn't drive with both legs like that, so I added the scene at the beginning just for you. Again, thanks for reading and giving me your comments!


	9. Chapter 9

_Throwing the gun he was holding and shrugging his shoulders carefully for twenty seconds (and yes, he did count), Sam suddenly dove at a rather surprised Freddy Krueger. They collided heavily and hit the ground. Michael Myers was, by this time, on his feet again and coming at them, knife in hand. Sam was sitting on top of Freddy when he saw the swipe out of the corner of his eye and rolled himself underneath his opponent. The knife slashed across Freddy's back._

_And then the alarm went off._

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Dean's eyes snapped open when he heard the wailing sound of his brother's phone alarm. There wouldn't be very many reasons why Sam would have set the alarm, especially in the middle of a hunt like this. His mind registered things quickly as he sat up and took in the weapons scattered all over the room. Then he saw his brother, sitting up on the bed, breathing heavily from his sudden return to the world of consciousness.

"Where is he?" Sam panted.

"Who?"

"Freddy Krueger! He should be here! I know I did it right this time!"

Dean glanced around, but everything seemed untouched. Then they heard footsteps at the door, exactly as they had been so recently in Sam's dream. Dean started to open his mouth when Sam interrupted, "It's Michael Myers!"

Not even bothering to ask how the younger hunter would know that from three footsteps, Dean grabbed the two nearest guns and a knife. He was aware that he wouldn't be able to get up and around much unless it was absolutely necessary. His broken ankle and stabbed leg just didn't seem to want to cooperate with him. Meanwhile, Sam had similarly armed himself, with guns and knives and holy water flasks surrounding him. In one hand, he was wielding a lighter. Just when Dean was getting ready to ask about when that had become a weapon, the person behind the door knocked.

Stunned, Sam whispered, "Why is Michael Myers knocking?"

"He wouldn't knock, idiot," Dean snapped back in his own whisper. "Go get the door."

Glaring, the younger brother got up slowly – and painfully, which helped him to be sure he was awake – and headed for the door.

"And stop freaking me out like that. You could have given me a heart attack," Dean added unnecessarily.

Sam risked another dirty look at his brother. "I know Freddy is around here somewhere," he announced to Dean. "And Myers should be back any minute. Just watch yourself." A few feet away from the door, where the knocking had resumed, Sam called out, "Who is it?"

With no verbal answer, splinters of wood flew at the hunter's unprotected face as the door burst open from the force behind it. "Sam!" Dean yelled from the bed, finding himself involuntarily on his feet in spite of the agony it caused.

Sam had instinctively thrown a hand in front of his face and turned away from the explosion of wood when he saw what was happening, and gratefully he was unhurt. However, he very clearly heard the voice of the man standing in the doorway when he called out, "Sam, I made it!" The voice of Freddy Krueger gave him chills, and he shuddered. By the time he recovered, Freddy was standing next to him with that horrible grin on his face. The claws came at him, and Sam dropped backwards, landing hard but rolling over to come back to his feet a suitable distance away.

"Better you than Michael Myers," he growled, bringing the lighter forward as Freddy continued to come at him.

"You can't stop me, Sam," the Elm Street killer hissed. "So many have tried, but all have failed."

"How cliche, since you've said that to me once already," Sam answered, flicking the flame on with his thumb and holding it out until it touched Freddy's hand and the sickening stench of burned and rotting flesh filled the room. Freddy recoiled, screaming, and Sam advanced on him, lighting his clothes and then his face. Those knife-like fingers struck out again, blindly, and the hunter, knowing he couldn't get all the way out of the way, leaned forward. Instead of the claws slicing his skin, Freddy's hand crashed into his shoulder, throwing them both off-balance enough that they fell in a heap.

In spite of his adrenalin _and_ his good intentions, Sam's body refused to move when he tried to get back up. Or when he tried to roll away. Or when he attempted to bring the lighter back toward his enemy. In fact, he could only manage to lift his head and see Freddy staggering back to his feet before even that became too much of an effort and it crashed back to the floor. Dean started shooting frantically at Freddy, especially when he saw that his brother had collapsed. "Sam!" he shouted while shooting.

"Yeah," came the answer, so quiet and raspy that no one heard it. The only reason Dean even knew his brother was still awake was the coughing that started just then.

Surprisingly, the bullets seemed to be affecting Freddy Krueger. Apparently, he was more human when he was in reality than the other horror movie villains. He dropped back to the ground, twitching from the shock of being shot so many times, way too close to Sam for Dean to feel comfortable. Dean was almost going to try to walk over when another sound drew his attention, and he turned to the doorway, where Michael Myers was slowly entering around the wooden carnage that used to be the door.

"Damn it!" he yelled, more as a stress-relieving mechanism than as a comment expecting an answer. "This is ridiculous! SAM!" He looked to his brother once more, cursing when he saw blood seeping from the stomach wound again. "Do you know how hard I've worked on those stitches . . . TWICE?"

Sam somehow found the strength to sit up when his roaming eyes locked on their latest guest – Myers. Leaning against the wall, he said, "Do we have an axe, Dean?"

Straining to hear the quietly spoken words coming from his brother, the elder hunter looked over in disbelief. "What?"

"An axe," Sam repeated. "Do we have one?"

"I don't think so. Why? Are you really going to try to chop him up?"

"I don't think we have any other choice at this point." With one hand on the wall, Sam dragged himself to his feet. "What happened to the knife I had?" He took a faltering step forward, not noticing the slight movements of the weakened but not dead Freddy Krueger on the ground near him. As what might have seemed like a last-ditch effort, Freddy's arm wrapped around Sam's good leg and jerked. The hapless Winchester grunted in surprise and collapsed back to the carpet again, having lost the last of his already-waning strength. Dean finished off the clip in his gun on Freddy, waiting until even the twitching had stopped. He had his own knife, but Myers was all the way in the room now. And unfortunately, Sam was between them.

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Note: I know, this is a short chapter, but it seemed like such a good spot to leave you hanging that I couldn't resist. Don't worry, folks – chapter 10 is just around the corner! And your reviews are so appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

_"An axe," Sam repeated. "Do we have one?"_

_"I don't think so. Why? Are you really going to try to chop him up?"_

_"I don't think we have any other choice at this point." With one hand on the wall, Sam dragged himself to his feet. "What happened to the knife I had?" He took a faltering step forward, not noticing the slight movements of the weakened but not dead Freddy Krueger on the ground near him. As what might have seemed like a last-ditch effort, Freddy's arm wrapped around Sam's good leg and jerked. The hapless Winchester grunted in surprise and collapsed back to the carpet again, having lost the last of his already-waning strength. Dean finished off the clip in his gun on Freddy, waiting until even the twitching had stopped. He had his own knife, but Myers was all the way in the room now. And unfortunately, Sam was between them._

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"Sam, don't get up!" Dean snapped to his brother as he took one step forward, not even taking the time to see if said brother was conscious. His stabbed leg held his weight, but when he put the broken one forward, it crumpled under him and he found himself on his knees. There was only one thing left to do. He threw the knife with deadly accuracy, only mildly shocked when it actually hit his target in the heart. Myers stumbled backward one step, looking at the knife with curiosity more than pain. His free hand jerked it out, and he found himself looking down at his next victim – who was lying unmoving on the floor below him.

"SAM!" Dean now shouted, realising that he now had no weapon. "Now's a good time to be getting up!"

"Make up your mind," Sam muttered from his position on the floor, where he was semi-conscious, eyes closed in utter exhaustion.

"Up, Sam!"

Groaning, the younger Winchester dragged his legs underneath him so he could be on his knees. He had still failed to open his eyes, hoping that keeping them closed would also hold the throbbing jackhammer in his head and body to a minimum. So far, it hadn't worked, but opening his eyes could mean more pain, so he elected not to. So focused was he on obeying Dean's orders that he had completely forgotten about his current situation. Freddy and Michael were not to be found in his mind.

"_Today_, Sam," Dean ground out, sounding closer than before but still far away.

"I'm trying," he mumbled back.

Dean, meanwhile, was trying to crawl forward to protect his brother, who was obviously disoriented. "Try harder."

It was at that point that Sam decided adding pain to his already gnawing agony was worth giving Dean a glare, and his eyes snapped open, widening as they took in the sight before them. A man with a knife in each hand was far too close for comfort, taking slow steps toward him. And then everything came rushing back.

"Michael Myers," he said in awe, no longer moving.

"Get _up_, Sammy," Dean ordered.

Shaking his head to clear it and draw himself out of his reverie, Sam involuntarily jerked back, landing on his rear end and sliding himself away. Surprisingly, Myers stopped walking. "What's he doing?" he whispered.

"He's probably sizing you up, idiot," the elder hunter growled from behind. "Why are you still sitting there?"

Sam turned his head to look at his brother, eyes taking in the injuries. "How long was I out?"

"I wasn't aware you were out."

"Not long, then," Sam said, nodding. "Do you happen to know what happened to my knife?"

"Well, I'd give you mine, but he has it now."

"I'm going to save my questions as to why you would give a supernatural killer a weapon for later and just ask you to find me another knife so I can defend us!"

"Defend us? You've already ripped out my stitches twice! I don't want you going anywhere near that guy!"

"KNIFE, Dean!" Sam snapped.

Shutting his mouth against the retort that would always come unbidden to his lips, Dean began frantically looking around the room for a knife. Why couldn't he find anything? A few minutes ago, when he had been awakened by Sam's alarm, there had been guns and knives and holy water everywhere. Now, he couldn't find anything except a bottle . . . .

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" came the reply, as Sam dragged himself to his feet again, ignoring the icy pain shooting through his body. Myers was advancing on him again, and he would have at least attempted to run if not for two things: 1) He had tried that already and it was pretty useless on horror movie villains, and 2) His body was completely unwilling to comply with that request anyway. So he took a few steps to the side and accidently tripped over Freddy Krueger's body.

"Have we tried holy water?"

"Dean, try the holy water or don't, but I'm going to need a weapon!" Sam hissed.

Nodding, the elder Winchester squirted the holy water all over Michael Myers. Interestingly enough, it sizzled when drops fell on Freddy, but the water did nothing to Myers. Sam was on his knees next to Freddy, a very sick idea having crossed his mind during the time when he was falling. But a bad idea was better than no idea at all. Myers was about to bring down one of the knives on his head when Sam grasped Freddy's hand and jerked it up, the claw-like fingers raking over Michael's arm. And, with joy unlike anything he had experienced in a long time, Sam saw Myers recoil in pain.

"What happened?" Dean asked from his position, which was still too far away.

"I don't know if it's the cut, or the fact that they're Freddy's claws, but it definitely hurt him."

"Do it again!"

Sam tried to figure out how to use his new weapon again without having to expend the energy required to drag Freddy all over the room. He supposed he could cut the hand off, but he still didn't have a knife. He'd have to wait for Michael to come at him again.

"Sam, do it again," Dean repeated.

"I _will_," he murmured back. "This isn't as easy as it looks!"

Dean still hated the thought of his brother being so close to two horrible enemies and crawled in that direction. It made his skin crawl, seeing Sam's hand gripping Freddy's fingers so close to his own throat. If the nightmare villain were to wake up at that moment, nothing could stop him from killing the younger hunter in a heartbeat. Perhaps luck would be with them for once. He snorted in amusement at his own futile plea. In reality, if it weren't for bad luck, the Winchesters wouldn't have any luck at all.

But something seemed to be on their side; Michael Myers charged Sam again and Sam managed to slice him across the chest. Dean's knife dropped from his hand, and he stumbled backward, eyeing his foe.

Sam's free hand snatched up the knife as though it was a priceless jewel. Dean had proven that it was useless against Myers, but the idea of holding the cold steel just made him breathe a sigh of relief. It was the principle of the thing, after all. He tucked it into his belt and tightened his grip on Freddy's arm.

"He's not going to attack me again," Sam muttered. "I'll either have to wait or try to drag Freddy's body around with me."

His older brother shuddered at the mental image that thought brought. "Just wait," he said. "It's safer and we both know you could use the rest."

Sam was ready to agree when Myers made up his mind for him by going for the only other moving thing in the room – Dean. It took a few precious seconds for what was going on to sink into Sam's already sluggish mind, but when he did, he found an extra surge of adrenalin that allowed him to fly to his feet, holding fast to Freddy Krueger's hand as he threw himself at Myers. He vaguely heard Dean yelling in concern, but his mind couldn't process the words. He crashed into Michael's side, taking them both down onto Sam's bed. He jerked Freddy's clawed hands down on Myer's chest twice before something collided with his head and his vision went black.

Dean watched the scene in front of himself with horror. Sam had slammed his head into the headboard on the bed quite by accident in his haste to kill Myers. Poor kid had knocked _himself _out. He stored that away mentally for a less stressful time when it would be his brotherly prerogative to mock Sam relentlessly. For now, though, it was his brotherly prerogative to save him. Without having any idea how he managed it, he found himself next to the bed, where Michael Myers was getting ready to deliver a final slashing blow to the unconscious Winchester. Dean grabbed Freddy Krueger's body and hauled it in front of his brother with almost all of his remaining strength. The knife meant for Sam sliced Freddy's chest up in an ugly gash. And a sudden gasp that _didn't_ come from Sam let Dean know that the nightmare killer was not actually dead yet. In horror, he dropped Freddy, wrapped an arm around Sam, and pulled backward. The two rolled into th wall behind them, Dean sitting up with his brother laying across his lap. Freddy's eyes shot open and he viciously swiped his claws across Michael Myers' throat. Myers went limp almost immediately, sliding off the bed and onto the floor.

"Oh, is _that_ all we had to do?" Dean muttered softly to himself.

Freddy Krueger stumbled to his feet, still the worse for wear, and took stock of his surroundings. Then he stepped down. A hand wrapped around his ankle and threw him to the ground.

"That's so unoriginal," Dean said. "I mean, he's done that to Sam, what, twice now? And who knows how many times it's been done in the movies. Just pathetic."

Michael Myers climbed slowly to his feet, staggering, and kicked Freddy three times.

"That's a new one," Dean said, nodding his approval. "It won't stop him, but at least it isn't cliche."

"Wass gooin on?" Sam ground out from his place on his brother's lap.

"Nothing, Sleeping Beauty. Go back to sleep and wait for your prince to come kiss you."

Sam was sure there was a big insult behind that remark, but was far too tired to sort it out at the moment. So instead, he asked, "Where am I laying?"

It was at that moment, and not a second earlier, that Dean realised his position, which could have been conceived as rather awkward. Hoping his brother was still too out of it to put things together, he answered, "Uh – the floor."

"It feels sort of soft and lumpy," Sam murmured without moving.

"I put a lumpy pillow under you, okay?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as he was finally able to focus on Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger, who were still fighting. "How long have they been going at it?"

"Not long. I've got my money on Freddy, though. He seems a lot more vengeful than Michael."

"You're sick," Sam responded, putting an elbow under himself to get up. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he wasn't on a pillow on the floor, when he heard Dean yelp.

"Watch it!" he snapped.

Sam turned his head to look back, realised where he was laying, and started laughing involuntarily.

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NOTE: Look – no cliffhanger! Aren't you guys proud of me? crickets chirp in background Uh, well, I'm proud of me, anyway. Hey, thanks for the great reviews, everyone. They make me feel better since I'm currently trying to recover from six stress fractures and a torn ACL (it's been a really rough week). Keep them coming, and I'll keep typing! (That's not a threat or anything; I mean, I don't have lot to do other than sit around right now, so I'm likely to keep typing, anyway. I'd just appreciate the reviews.) Anyway, I envision this story ending soon. Sorry I won't be adding everyone's suggestions in. They were fun, and maybe in a while I'll write a sequel where I can put our heroes into every horrible horror movie ever made! We'll see!


	11. Chapter 11

_Sam's eyes narrowed as he was finally able to focus on Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger, who were still fighting. "How long have they been going at it?"_

_"Not long. I've got my money on Freddy, though. He seems a lot more vengeful than Michael."_

_"You're sick," Sam responded, putting an elbow under himself to get up. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he wasn't on a pillow on the floor, when he heard Dean yelp._

_"Watch it!" he snapped._

_Sam turned his head to look back, realised where he was laying, and started laughing involuntarily._

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"What are you laughing at?" Dean grumbled to his brother.

"Dude, I've had a bad day, and you've had a bad day; let's just forget it," Sam said as he gained control over himself. "How long do you think the two of them will keep it up?"

"I imagine they'll fight until one of them dies."

"Wasn't that the point of Freddy Vs. Jason?" Sam asked.

"Did you see that movie?"

"No, but I heard they both lived, and so I doubt they can kill each other."

"I'm pretty sure Jason won that fight," Dean said thoughtfully.

"Which is funny, considering that he was the easiest to kill out of the three of them."

"You think that was easy? I have a broken cast and a concussion that says that wasn't easy."

Sam shrugged, sitting up and leaning back against the wall so his shoulder was touching his brother's but they were no longer in an uncomfortably close proximity. "In comparison, I mean. I still don't know how to kill Michael Myers."

"Or Freddy."

"How did Jason do it?"

"I think they fell in a lake and Jason came out with Freddy's head."

"Could we–"

"No, Sam, we're not jumping in a lake with Freddy Krueger."

The younger Winchester huffed and let his head fall back against the wall. "I'm actually glad it's turned out like this so far," he announced. "We really needed this break, and I don't think we would have gotten it any other way."

"You're probably right," Dean conceded. "At least now we have some time to come up with a plan."

"Yeah, because those have really been working out well for us so far."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, watching as Freddy gashed Michael's leg with his claws and received a knife in the shoulder for his efforts. Both brothers winced at the violence the two villains were inflicting on each other.

"Glad that's not me," Dean muttered.

"Well, any ideas?"

"Me? Why me? I came up with the last plan we had!"

"And it was better than anything I came up with, so it stands to reason that you'll be able to think of something better again."

Dean snarled something under his breath and closed his eyes in thought.

"Don't fall asleep or unconscious," Sam warned.

"I'm not."

"Good, cause you have a concussion and I don't want you to die on me. That would really mess up my day and make it hard for me to kill these guys."

"Thanks for caring, Sam."

"Don't mention it."

Sam watched the fight with renewed interest when Michael Myers suddenly growled – they hadn't heard a noise from him up to that point and the hunter figured that whatever Freddy had just done must have caused some serious damage. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that was, since Freddy Krueger apparently didn't bleed and Michael Myers oozed a deep red liquid that didn't even begin to slow him down. He winced when Myers retaliated by slashing the knife across Freddy's throat, creating a line of open skin but no gore.

"That's disgusting," Dean said, suddenly drawing his brother's attention again.

"I completely agree."

"We should do something."

"Why? They're keeping themselves busy enough. We might just make them mad at us again. I'm too tired for that."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But we can't let them do this forever. I mean, someone is bound to have heard some noises by now and come to check out what's going on."

"What are you going to tell them?"

"Me again? Why me?"

"You're a better liar."

"You gain people's trust easier."

"You're quicker on your feet."

"You're not wanted for murder."

"Hey – I'm an accomplice!"

Rolling his eyes, hte elder Winchester said, "It's not a competition, Sammy. Now, let's think up something to say if someone wants to know what's going on."

"It's Sam," came the reply. "And I don't think it will matter if they're still fighting when someone gets here. That's why we have to stop them."

"You can only stop Freddy by killing him."

"He doesn't die."

"Seriously, Sam, I think we should hack these two guys into little pieces and salt and burn them. Even if they somehow come back to life, at least it will have been gratifying for us."

Sam smirked. "Good point. Let's get to it." He drew out the knife that he had concealed in his pants and started to get up.

"Wait – what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to chop one of Freddy's hands off and use it to cut up Michael Myers."

Dean crinkled his nose. "It sounds really gross when you say it like that. Anyway, you're going to _chop_ off Freddy's hand with _that_?"

The younger hunter looked down at the blade in his grip. "Yeah, why?"

"You'd have to saw his hand off with that. And something tells me he won't want to stand around waiting for you to finish."

"Fine. You think up a better plan, then."

At that moment, there was a knock on what was left of the splintered door. "Hello? Management . . . open up! Uh . . ." The voice trailed off as the man saw what was going on in the room.

"Not good," Sam muttered. "Go talk to him."

"I thought we had this conversation already. _You_ go."

Fortunately, the decision was made for them. Unfortunately, it was made because both Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers reacted to the knocking, effectively ending their fight as their attention was drawn to the door. Freddy practically leapt at the man, claws extended. The manager recoiled as he saw the scarred dream villain rushing at him, turning and running with a shriek fading out as he got away. Freddy paused at the threshold, as though deciding whether to continue his fight or kill the random bystander. Michael slashing at his back with the knife made the decision for him. He turned back to his current enemy.

"That worked out better than I'd hoped," Sam observed.

"Did you see the way that guy ran for his life? These two are kind of handy to have around. Maybe we could –"

"Not a chance, Dean," Sam interrupted. "Don't even finish that thought."

"But–"

"NO!"

This loud outburst once again drew the unwanted attention of the fighting murderers, who seemed to remember that the other two people in the room were enemies to them, as well.

"Now look what you've done," Dean groused.

"Don't you dare blame this on _me_," came the seething response.

Sam, who was still standing from when he was going to "chop" off Freddy's hand earlier, reached down for his brother's arm to drag him to his feet. Dean may not be able to run quickly, but he had a better chance at stumbling away than he did sitting against the wall not doing anything to defend himself.

"Son of a –" Dean stopped himself from cursing as his little brother dragged him up; it seemed to waste too much energy to speak when he was trying to concentrate on staying upright. And when he felt Sam's muscles twitch at the extra weight they were supporting, he knew he needed to suck it up. After all, both of them were wounded, and he just couldn't convince himself to be taken care of by his younger brother when both of them could use a hospital. "Where are we running to?" he finally ground out, shrugging Sam's hand off so he could stand on his own.

"I have no idea. Somewhere else, I guess."

Dean rolled his eyes and was about to say something characteristically rude when he saw Sam jump _toward_ Freddy Krueger. And before he could ask why his brother was doing something so painfully stupid, they collided. The younger hunter had apparently had enough and, while kneeling on each of Freddy's wrists, he started sawing the arm off. "Distract Myers!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"I had to distract Jason," Dean whined, already waving his arms around in an attempt to get Michael Myers to look at him. "This plan sucks!"

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NOTE: Reviews have dropped off sharply in the last couple of chapters. I'm not sure if this is because the story got worse or because people are too busy. I'm not asking you to go out of your way to review (it'd be nice, but then I write as much for me as for you); I just want people to tell me if I'm doing something wrong so I can fix it. Thanks to everyone who is still consistently reviewing -- you guys are the best!


	12. Chapter 12

_Dean rolled his eyes and was about to say something characteristically rude when he saw Sam jump toward Freddy Krueger. And before he could ask why his brother was doing something so painfully stupid, they collided. The younger hunter had apparently had enough and, while kneeling on each of Freddy's wrists, he started sawing the arm off. "Distract Myers!" he shouted over his shoulder._

"_I had to distract Jason," Dean whined, already waving his arms around in an attempt to get Michael Myers to look at him. "This plan sucks!"_

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Having provided a distraction to Michael Myers successfully for a few minutes, Dean was guessing that Sam had found some sort of success or there would have been noises of a fight. He ducked under Myers' swinging arm, grabbing the wrist to hold the knife away from him as he silently congratulated his brother.

Just then, a body flew by his head, landing in a groaning heap on the other side of the room. Dean, only able to take his eyes off of his enemy for a second, instantly recognised it as Sam. "Dude, did you have to do that _right then_?" he grumbled aloud.

In response, Sam drew himself back to his feet and held up one hand. "I got it," he said with a smirk, Freddy's severed hand in his grip.

"That is really gross," the elder hunter muttered, earning himself a hard hit to the head from Michael. Sam lurched forward, wielding the claws in front of him.

"Distract Freddy while I kill Myers," he ordered as he came toward his brother.

"Do I look like anything more than a distraction to you?" Dean shouted in frustration, turning to find Freddy Krueger right beside him, one-handed and extremely angry for having lost a limb. "Crap!"

Adrenalin allowed him to temporarily disregard his injuries. Experience gave him the moves necessary to dodge and distract the dream killer. But, unfortunately, no knowledge or logic in his mind could help him figure out how to actually take the offensive, and it bugged him. Dean Winchester was not the kind of man to defend and defend and try to out-wait someone. No, he liked to get in, maim or beat or kill or whatever the situation required, and then get out. This was about as far away from that as possible.

"Sam?" he called out casually, ducking a vicious swipe of Freddy's remaining hand. "How's it coming over there, buddy?"

"Excellent," came the strained reply, as Sam jerked his new "weapon" across Michael's chest and grinned when the undead man recoiled. "I'm nearly finished here, I think."

"Does this mean we don't get to chop them up into little pieces and salt and burn each one, after all?"

"You still can, if you want," the younger hunter offered. "I won't be offended. In fact, I'll even help you."

Dean's reply was lost on the sound of a thud, as the elder Winchester managed to plant a solid kick to Freddy's chest, knocking the nightmare villain backwards. He smiled, until pain shot up his leg and he shifted his weight to the other one to compensate. Unfortunately, agony rolled over this leg, too, and he rolled his eyes as he remembered his plight. "It never rains but it pours," he muttered under his breath, then gave a deep sigh as he realised what he'd just said. "I've been hanging out with you way too long, Sam," he said aloud.

"What?" Sam replied from the other side of the room, where his own fight was raging.

"Nothing," Dean grunted in return, putting his attention back on the enemy he was fighting. His entire body was tired. His legs were throbbing. His head hurt, and he was angry. Usually, this would be the time when he would let his anger wash over him and beat things up. But he didn't have the energy for it right now. It was hard enough to stay standing, let alone go postal as he usually did in situations like this. He could only pray that he would be able to outlast Freddy (and while that was laughable, it was a slight possibility that he couldn't afford to overlook) or that Sam would find a solution fast enough to save them both.

Freddy jerked his remaining hand around, pulling Dean from his thoughts quickly. The hunter leaned over,covering his head with his arms, not imagining that Krueger's attack was more of a tackle than a swipe, so Dean's change in position took them both by surprise. Freddy lost his balance, hit the hunter – who was a lot more stable on his feet than he thought he was – and flew over him to land in a heap on the floor. That small victory, though unintended, gave Dean a bit of extra adrenalin, and a characteristically wicked smirk crossed his face.

Sam was having his own problems. Freddy's severed hand seemed to be working to a certain point, but, in spite of his lumbering demeanor, Michael was faster than he looked. It was hard to get in even the occasional hit, and not only that, the hunter was getting tired. Like Dean, his body had been sapped of its natural energy long before Freddy had shown up in this miserable hunt. Only pure determination was keeping him on his feet right now.

He heard his brother groan at something and felt a spark of the protectiveness that was so prevalent in Dean. This spurred him on; he dodged a couple of blows that would surely have gotten him moments earlier. Knowing that his brother might need him was all it took to get him back into action. Briefly, he wondered why he hadn't thought of that before – it was always a failsafe way to get Dean to move quicker. He'd have to remember to pull the "Sam needs your help" card on his brother in the future. And with these thoughts running through his head, he found himself advancing easily on the now-shredded Myers, wielding the knives of Freddy Krueger's hand and gaining momentum as he took measured swings. And then, it seemed that his fight was at a climax.

Sam smiled at his fortuitous position, where Myers couldn't possibly block his next slash. And, in fact, Myers didn't even try to move as Freddy's claws ripped through his throat. But instead of falling down or even bleeding, Michael merely grunted and swatted Sam across the side of the head. A dark line showed where the slice was, but it barely slowed him down. Sam grumbled, crawling painfully back to his feet, and suddenly found himself too close to dodge any of Myers hits. And then he realised he had dropped his only weapon when he fell.

Frustrated at the whole stupid hunt, the younger Winchester decked Myers with all of his effort. The force of his blow knocked Michael's head back and then completely off. Sam's mouth dropped open in temporary surprise, and then he shouted his brother's name when Michael's now headless body continued to punch him. The only good news from this was that Michael Myers could no longer see him.

"Dean!"

"Not now, Sammy; I'm busy!"

"Dean, NOW! I'm serious!"

Dean cautiously took a glance away from Freddy Krueger, eyes widening when he saw what was attacking his baby brother. "Sam? Where's his head?"

"On the floor over there," Sam snapped, motioning with his head. "I don't know what to do . . . he's still moving! I don't think we can kill him!"

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Note: Sorry this is short and late, everyone! It's been a long weekend!

Okay, admittedly I've taken a lot of liberties with my artistic license here and I hope everyone stays with me. I sometimes get a bit carried away. Anyway, I think it will only be another chapter or two before I wrap things up. I know there wasn't a lot of banter and everything here, but eventually I actually need to allow the poor boys to stop talking and start fighting their way out of this situation, you know? And, if it feels like enough people are interested, perhaps I'll work on a sequel with some of the other movie villains that all of you have so kindly suggested.

Thanks again for reviewing! I got a lot of great comments back from the last chapter and I really appreciate it! You keep me going!


	13. Chapter 13

_"Dean!"_

_"Not now, Sammy; I'm busy!"_

_"Dean, NOW! I'm serious!"_

_Dean cautiously took a glance away from Freddy Krueger, eyes widening when he saw what was attacking his baby brother. "Sam? Where's his head?"_

_"On the floor over there," Sam snapped, motioning with his head. "I don't know what to do . . . he's still moving! I don't think we can kill him!"_

------------------------

The distraction cost Dean his precarious position, as Freddy, who had gotten back to his feet, charged into him and took them both down. Sam risked a look back when he heard the loud thump of bodies and grimaced. They needed out of this situation, and they needed to do it fast. He delivered a powerful kick that swept Michael Myers' legs out from under him and then turned to his brother, figuring they had at least a few minutes before the headless killer came after them again. He retrieved Freddy's severed hand and took a dive at the two fighting on the floor. It was at that point that everything erupted in chaos.

The guy from management who had come to their room earlier returned with another manager. It was surprising that he hadn't called anyone else, since apparently the sight of the people in the room had terrified him to the point that he was ready to bring back the entire United States armed forces. Upon arriving, the manager naturally assumed that people were using disguises for some twisted game, and stepped in without worry. Sam managed to throw Freddy Krueger off his brother and stab him with his own hand before he was physically hauled back by the first guy who had come. His eyes widened, and he had no energy to fight the arms trapping him.

Dean elected not to move. The trip to the ground under Freddy's weight hadn't been pleasant, and he prayed that his little brother would be able to talk them out of this . . . somehow. If not, it would be just as useful to lay there and gain strength as it would to get up again.

"You're all under arrest," the new manager said, eyes taking in the scene of carnage quickly.

"You can't arrest us; you're not police," Sam argued. Dean cringed. So much for tact.

"Well, I'm calling them, so they're about to arrest you."

"For what?" Sam asked.

"Disturbing the peace and destruction of property, at the very least." The manager looked over at Freddy, who had gotten back up and was angrily trying to pull his severed hand out of his chest. "And possibly attempted murder, if that guy is hurt."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'd be more worried about _that_ guy," he said, pointing back at where Michael Myers was still sprawled on the floor, head sitting a few feet away. Then, a grin creased his face. "Hey, he didn't get back up!"

The man looked to where he was pointing and got a disgusted expression. "You are sick, buddy."

"Sir, please," the younger Winchester began, his eyes switching to the famous I'm-completely-trustworthy-and-I'm-definitely-on-your-side look, his voice oozing honesty. "I can explain."

"Good, because this deserves an explanation," the man retorted, jerking Sam forward threateningly. Then Dean opened his eyes long enough to notice the guy in the back had handcuffs with him and was trying to put them on his brother. He shrugged and hoped Sam really could salvage something from this situation, closing his eyes again.

After the first cuff was secured tightly around Sam's right wrist, Freddy made his move. He dove at the standing hunter, who noticed it out of the corner of his eye just in enough time to dodge. The manager, however, was not so lucky. He was hit dead center, and crashed back into Sam, who broke the fall of the others when he flew backward and into the carpet behind him. Dean opened an eye at this, then shook his head as the other man jumped forward to help.

"It's not bad enough that I have to protect myself," Sam groused from the bottom of the pile of struggling people. "Now I have to protect _them_, too!" He jerked a hand out to the side and used it to grab the still-embedded hand out of Freddy's chest. Then he shoved the manager off to the other side, growling, "Run, idiot!" as he did so.

After experiencing a bit of Freddy Krueger's wrath, the man wasn't about to argue. He somehow stumbled to his feet, grabbed the other guy who had come with him, and sprinted from the room. Sam kicked Freddy back and turned to get away. However, he succeeded only in flailing his limbs in a rather uncoordinated manner when his body refused to cooperate with him. At least he had his weapon back again. He had no idea if it would stop his foe, but it was better than nothing.

Dean had made it to his knees at that point, watching the scene with renewed interest. The younger hunter had, indeed, fixed the situation with the managers, although he seemed to need help now. "Sam?" he called, reaching for the nearby wall to use as a support while he climbed to his feet.

"Just kill me already," Sam said back, voice hoarse.

"I intend to," Freddy hissed.

"Get the hell away from my brother!" Dean shouted, his brother sense tingling when he heard those horrid words spew out of the nightmare villain's mouth. Both Sam and Freddy looked at him with surprise on their faces, not having expected him to get up again. In that instant, the elder Winchester reached into his pocket, ripped out a lighter, and started Freddy Krueger on fire. Freddy jumped back, slapping at the flame with his remaining hand while Sam ran to his brother, putting an arm under his shoulder and helping him to hobble out of the room. Krueger failed to even notice them as they slipped away.

"Why didn't you do that in the first place?" Sam asked.

"It hadn't occurred to me. Besides, it didn't kill Freddy when they did it in the movie."

"He's not dead?" came the groaning reply. "Can you kill this guy?"

"I have no idea."

They paused on their way to the Impala, took a deep breath, and then continued on. "Well, what haven't we tried on him? I think we spent a lot more time experimenting on the other two."

"Holy water, iron rounds, a stake, silver, burning remains . . ." Dean ticked off suggestions on his fingers. "Wait, did we try any of those?"

"We need to do more research, to find out how he died in the movies. Did they ever kill him?"

"They sure tried, but he kept coming back."

"What did they do?"

"I don't remember."

Sam stopped abruptly. "Well, how are we supposed to kill him if you don't remember? I can't research it on my laptop because it's probably getting fried right now."

"Don't get mad at me! You're the one who left it!"

The younger hunter huffed angrily, glaring out into space, and then used his free hand to pull out his cell phone. "I'm calling Bobby again."

"Wait – again? You actually told Bobby about all of this?"

"Uh . . . we'll discuss that later, okay? For now, we need his help." Sam's fingers scrolled o Bobby Singer's number in his phone, but he couldn't bring himself to dial. After all, Bobby had assumed he was drunk when he'd called the first time. It might not even be worth it to try again. He ducked away from Dean's shoulder and backed up. "I'm going to get my computer," he said suddenly, putting his phone away. "I'd rather do the research myself, anyway."

"I don't want you going in there alone," his brother grumbled.

"I'll only be a second. I can just grab our stuff and come back out."

"Wait for me."

Sam snorted. "It could take you _hours _to get back in there in your current condition. Just stay here and I'll be right back. Or, better yet, start hobbling to the car."

"I don't hobble," Dean snapped dangerously.

"Stumble, then. Or stagger. Or limp. I don't care which. But hurry up about it," came the response as Sam turned and jogged painfully back to the door of the motel room. He was honestly a little concerned about the sight he'd find, but almost dropped with relief when he saw Freddy was gone and Michael Myers was still on the ground – headless. He stepped inside and snatched up his computer and the two duffel bags he and his brother carried. He was almost back out the door with his arms full when his brain finally registered the fact that Freddy was gone and sent him warning signals. He stopped dead in his tracks and took a long, measured look around the room.

It was a total wreck. Wood from the door was still splintered across the carpet. Blood splattered various pieces of upholstery. There was a decapitated body on the ground. And somewhere along the way, Sam had apparently dropped Freddy's severed hand, because it was laying near the bathroom . . . where water was running . . .

Everything fell out of Sam's hands with a sickening crack as he realised Freddy must have been using the shower to put his fire out. The hunter dashed to the bathroom, grabbing a gun on his way by and ripping the door open without thinking about what exactly he was going to do. He vaguely heard Dean calling his name from outside, accompanied by the growing sound of sirens, but he couldn't allow himself to leave until he'd finished Freddy off.

He stepped into the bathroom and flipped the light on.


	14. Chapter 14

_Everything fell out of Sam's hands with a sickening crack as he realised Freddy must have been using the shower to put his fire out. The hunter dashed to the bathroom, grabbing a gun on his way by and ripping the door open without thinking about what exactly he was going to do. He vaguely heard Dean calling his name from outside, accompanied by the growing sound of sirens, but he couldn't allow himself to leave until he'd finished Freddy off._

_He stepped into the bathroom and flipped the light on._

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As light filled the room, Sam heard a satisfying whimper. Normally, that kind of sound would make him want to help someone, but knowing who it came from gave him gratification instead. He wasn't sure why exactly this horrible nightmare murderer was huddled on the floor of the shower, but he didn't care that much, either.

For whatever reason, his mind was far slower than usual. It had taken way too long to figure out where Freddy Krueger was, just as it had taken way too long for him to realise that the sirens were coming closer. He had to get out,and quickly. He shot Freddy a few times for good measure and headed out of the room. The police would have a field day with this, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Pulling some salt out of his bag, he pretty much covered the entire room. Then he doused everything in gasoline. But before he could light the room and run, he found himself still unconvinced that Freddy was even dead.

Sam grabbed the shotgun from where he had left it earlier and took out the shell inside. He carefully popped one end off and poured the powder into a sock from on of the duffel bags. Then he soaked a piece of gauze from the first aid kit in gasoline and put it down on the bathroom floor. Before lighting it, the hunter gathered up all of his and his brother's possessions, stacking them by the door. With one final glance around, he headed for the bathroom, where Freddy was still cowering. In seconds, the gauze was lit and Sam was barrelling for the door. His arms snatched everything up, pausing only to light the saturated carpet behind him on his way out.

Bags slung over each shoulder, computer and weapons in hand, Sam was heading toward the Impala at a dead run. Luckily, Dean had had the insight to get in the car and start it. But he was still mildly appalled when he saw flames coming from the room he'd just abandoned.

"Sammy?" he asked softly as his brother got in the car.

"Drive, please," the younger Winchester hissed before Dean could finish asking his question.

Trusting Sam's word and knowing that they needed to leave, Dean slammed his not-broken foot down on the gas pedal and the car lurched forward just as the motel room behind them exploded in bright yellow flames. He nearly stopped in surprise but remembered that the police were already on their way and kept going. Neither brother said anything until they had been driving for about twenty minutes.

"So . . ." Dean began conversationally, as though he were about to talk about the weather, "what was that?"

"An explosion."

"You would be proud, Sammy. I managed to figure that out all by myself. Why did the room explode?"

"I couldn't let Freddy and Michael leave."

"Freddy was still in there? How did you trap him?"

"That was the funny thing, Dean – he was sitting in the bathroom like he was afraid. I have no idea why."

The elder hunter slapped his forehead. "Of course! They used a mirror in one of the movies."

"A mirror?"

"Yeah, to kill Freddy. Apparently there was some nursery rhyme or something . . ." He trailed off, realising how dumb he sounded. "Anyway, maybe it was true and he couldn't stand to see himself in a mirror."

Sam shrugged. "Well, I don't care what it was that made him stay there. I'm just glad he did."

"So you could blow him up?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

A few seconds of silence went by before Dean spoke again. "It _was_ a good idea, Sam. I just hate not being involved when we blow things up. It's not fair."

Sam permitted a grin. "I'm sorry you don't get to chop them up in little pieces and salt and burn each one. It probably would have been fun."

Dean's eyes widened. "Sam, did you salt--"

"Yes, I did," the younger hunter interjected. "I salted everything in there. Nothing supernatural should ever make it out of that alive."

With an audible sigh, Dean leaned his head back against the seat, eyes still on the empty road. "I really could use some sleep now."

"Me too," Sam agreed. "But we need to get your cast replaced before we do much else. You'll cause yourself more damage."

"And we have to get your stitches replaced . . . AGAIN."

"You need your other leg looked at."

"So do you."

"You probably have a concussion."

"So do you."

Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked at his brother. "You could have broken ribs."

A triumphant smile crossed Dean's face. "Don't try to beat me, Sam – it won't work. I'll always win."

The younger Winchester ran his tongue over his teeth in thought, and finally blurted, "At least _I'm_ not bleeding all over your car."

Dean swerved in surprise, cussing and trying to get back on the road as Sam laughed.

------------------------

Twelve hours later found the Winchester boys in another motel room, stitched, casted, and significantly cleaned up. They were sore and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to collapse into the beds and sleep for a week. But they soon discovered that, in spite of their fatigue, neither could sleep.

In frustration, Dean grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, ignoring Sam's grumbling from the next bed. He flipped through channels, stopping on a preview for something.

"We should go see a good movie, Sam," he said.

"No, thanks," his brother muttered without moving.

Then something familiar caught his eye. This preview was for a horror movie. "Sam?" he said, eyes glued to the screen now.

Sam recognised his brother's urgent tone and immediately rolled over to look at the TV. "What?"

Just then, both Winchesters saw the mask and the blood and the horrid eyes. "What is that?" Dean gasped out.

There was no answer until the announcer proclaimed the title of the movie: "Halloween."

Without moving anything more than one finger, Dean turned the power to the TV off and let the room be shrouded in darkness as he and Sam continued to stare at the technology in growing repulsion.

"Are they really making _another _one?" Dean finally spit out.

"Then is he even dead?" Sam queried in a small voice.

Silence was their answer, and even though they generally weren't superstitious or bothered by horror films, the Winchesters knew they wouldn't be sleeping well for a long time.

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NOTE: Yep, folks, that's the end! I figured that since I had stolen cheesy 80's horror movie characters, I should have a cheesy 80's horror movie ending. And here we are! I really appreciate everyone's great reviews and/or suggestions throughout this.

By the way, here's an extra disclaimer: don't try the whole shotgun shells, socks, and gasoline thing at home. I really just made that up and while I imagine something resembling an explosion would come out of it, I truthfully don't know. Don't do it! It's probably dangerous and I don't want anyone suing me for giving them ideas.

You guys are awesome! Sequel coming soon!


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